"Pluck pluck pluck," the sound of the guqin strings resonated in the room.
Zhao Changhe was sitting there, earnestly playing the guqin.
Bao Qin stood beside him, visibly on edge, ready to leap forward and save her precious guqin at any sign of aggression from this bearish figure, guaranteed to push him three feet away with one shove.
Yet, strangely enough, although he had awkwardly snapped a string last time and hadn't practiced since, the way he sat there now was somehow much gentler, no longer so stiff; it had a tranquil quality to it.
When he touched the strings, despite still looking somewhat stiff, he could actually play.
The reason was simple, last time it wasn't the strings that had been too tense, but himself. How could a martial artist who could use a broadsword to shave, and who possessed such control, accidentally break a string?
And these past few days, both his body and mind had relaxed, that was all.
