After several attempts to correct him with no effect, Yvonne Foster couldn’t stand it any longer. She jumped in, grabbed Sanlang Brooks’s left hand, and very seriously manipulated his three fingers, saying, “You should do it like this: the middle finger is the longest, so when you tap out, it should bend slightly; the ring finger is the clumsiest, so you need to use more force with it…”

The two of them were very close. Suddenly, Sanlang Brooks caught a whiff of an indescribable fragrance, extremely pleasant. In that instant, he actually felt his appetite surge, as if he wanted to take a bite of something…

So close at hand, that charming face looked as if it would taste wonderful.

“What are you two doing!”

A shout suddenly came from behind.

Yvonne Foster was startled and quickly let go.

Lost in his daydreams, Scholar Brooks was spun around several times on the spot by a deft twist, like a spinning top. When he stopped, he was dizzy and saw stars.

“Dad, why are you back?”

Yvonne Foster lowered her head, looking like a child who had done something wrong.

Nancy Foster walked over lazily, carrying a pot of wine, glanced at the puppet, and shook her head. “Nonsense.”

Sanlang Brooks thought the head of the hall was scolding them for being too close just now, so he hurriedly said, “Mr. Foster, you misunderstood. There’s nothing improper between me and Miss Yvonne Foster.”

Upon hearing this, Yvonne Foster widened her eyes: What kind of nonsense is this bookworm spouting?

Nancy Foster ignored them, took a swig of wine, and muttered, “But it doesn’t matter, he won’t learn it anyway…” With that, she turned and went back to her room.

Sanlang Brooks was left completely bewildered.

Yvonne Foster glared at him. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Yvonne Foster stepped forward, her presence intimidating. “That thing you just said to my dad.”

Sanlang Brooks gave an “oh”: “I said we’re innocent. I was afraid Mr. Foster would misunderstand.”

“You idiot, you said the wrong thing, don’t you know?”

Sanlang Brooks was taken aback and scratched his head. “How did I say the wrong thing? We really are innocent, we didn’t do anything. Even though you grabbed my hand and our bodies touched, this kind of physical contact is nothing to a martial artist—I don’t mind at all…”

“You’re infuriating.”

Yvonne Foster suddenly extended a finger and pressed it below Sanlang Brooks’s throat, right between his collarbones.

“Uh!”

Sanlang Brooks opened his mouth wide, only to find he couldn’t make a sound. The sensation was extremely strange, comical, and a bit absurd.

Yvonne Foster clapped her hands, as if venting her frustration. “I’ve sealed your mute acupoint, but don’t worry, it’ll unlock itself in a quarter of an hour. You can go home now.”

It was still raining. Sanlang Brooks, walking home under a broken umbrella, wore a look of grief: He had humbly studied martial arts, paid the price of a top-notch love poem, and finally managed to touch upon advanced martial arts—what had he done to deserve this? He’d actually become a living target and had his mute acupoint sealed—

The feeling of being unable to speak was truly awful.

“I said the wrong thing? How did I say the wrong thing? Am I supposed to say we’re not innocent? If that’s what you want, just say so; though I actually do want that, but if you don’t say it, how am I supposed to know you want it too…”

Chapter 9: The Red Carp Reappears, Leaping Across the Palm

In the rain, Sanlang Brooks inexplicably felt a bit melancholy. He knew that going home in this state would definitely make his mother worry terribly. Thinking it over, he changed direction and headed to Wanqing Bridge, planning to wait out the quarter hour until he could speak again before going home.

The rain was fine and dense, falling endlessly onto the river, creating countless small ripples. There were no ducks, no frogs—the Jing River was unusually quiet today.

Holding his broken umbrella, Sanlang Brooks walked onto the bridge, leaned against the railing, and gazed upstream. He hoped a black-awning boat would drift down, and that the boatwoman with the pole would be exceptionally beautiful.

“How pathetic, thinking about this at a time like this?”

He cursed himself inwardly.

Someone was coming onto the bridge, so he quickly straightened up, put one hand behind his back, and pretended to be admiring the scenery in the rain. It was said that those literary types loved this sort of thing the most—standing at the end of a misty spring bridge, full of deep emotion, and when the mood was right, reciting poetry on the spot—

Now Sanlang Brooks could open his mouth, but no sound would come out, so he could only press his lips tightly together and put on a pensive look.

Unfortunately, the spring chill was biting, his umbrella was broken, and his clothes were slowly getting soaked. With the wind and rain lashing him, he began to shiver all over, trembling from the cold.

Passersby saw him and couldn’t help but cover their mouths and laugh:

“Isn’t that Sanlang Brooks? I heard he’s taking the child scholar exam again this year, but for some reason, he’s out here in the rain on the bridge…”

“Maybe he’s afraid he still won’t pass, so he’s out here to clear his head…”

The whispers drifted by and faded away.

“Sanlang, your mother is looking all over for you. Mr. Sullivan has come to visit, and here you are…”

The second group of passersby was Auntie Howard from next door, her voice as loud as a gong.

Hearing this, Sanlang Brooks groaned inwardly, then nodded to show he understood.

Auntie Howard saw his blank expression and sighed, “Such a good kid, but the exams have made him silly. What a pity.”

With that, she went on her way.

The veins on Sanlang Brooks’s forehead bulged. He really wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, “You’re the silly one, your whole family is silly…”