Grandma Song’s face was cold and her tone was impatient:

"Old man Yu, this is your duty to repay the kindness of the saint. Why are we forcing you? Are you still like a three-year-old child who wants us to coax you?"

"Hey, Miss Song, don't say anything yet."

The old musician leaned back:

"People really become more like children as they get older. I used to not like to talk when I was young. I could hardly speak more than a few times a month. I would not talk to anyone who is not a vocal confidant...

"Now that I'm older, I realize that speaking is really interesting. If the sound of music is elegant, people's speech is vulgar. The vulgar is elegant, the simple is the true, and the careful taste makes a difference."

The old musician looked happy and shared with the two female historians in front of him: an old man and a young man:

"Now I just feel that I have been quiet for most of my life and every time I say a word, I have earned it. As for Miss Song, you have been so cold and stern all your life. You should smile at last and don't take it to the coffin..."

"

The nasolabial folds on Granny Song's skinny face were twitching and twitching, as if her appearance was about to change at any moment.

At this time, Rong Zhen spoke softly to ease the atmosphere:

"Mr. Yu, the seniors and juniors of the Song Dynasty have no intention of spying on you. Everyone in Luoyang Sitian Prison respects you very much, and the saints also remember your hard work."

Having said this, she paused, looked at the old musician with a gentle face, and said in a clear voice:

"This junior has heard the sage say more than once in front of the emperor that you are a national scholar."

The old musician thought for a while and asked carefully:

"Then I would like to ask you, little Nv Shi, how to arrange the rules and regulations for a saint to treat a noble? Is there a set of procedures or something like that?"

After Rong Zhen heard this, he stopped talking.

Aunt Song interrupted, her voice a little shrill:

"Hey, Old Man Yu, look at me, Master. Isn't he older than you? Isn't he still diligent and loyal to the country, and shines brightly as long as he is here?"

The old woman with white eyes raised her sharp chin and looked down at the old musician opposite:

"Look at me again. I have served His Majesty for decades. I am a role model for the younger generations in prison... How can I be so indecisive and bargaining like you?"

The old musician stopped smiling and became respectful.

He supported his knees with both hands, leaned forward slightly, and asked tentatively:

"It makes sense, but Miss Song is not considered a national scholar. Rong Xiaonu Shi, have you ever heard a saint say this before the emperor? In addition to Miao praising the master and the old scholar, is it possible that he also praised Miss Song so much?"

Rong Zhen:……

Grandma Song's face suddenly changed, and she could not suppress her anger:

"The old guy named Yu, half buried in the loess, is still talking nonsense?"

The white eyes of the shrill old woman just turned purple, and the old musician waved his hand and said righteously:

"Okay, okay, no matter whether you are a national scholar or not, you are doing things for the saint anyway, and you are repaying the saint's kindness. There is no distinction between high and low, don't you think so, Miss Rong? So, Miss Song, don't worry.

."

Seeing a dining table in front of him creaking automatically, as if it would fall apart after the next breath, he helplessly spread his hands:

"Okay, Miss Song, I didn't say I was leaving now. Just work overtime and come back late. Let's shine together and repay the saint's kindness."

"snort."

The old woman with white eyes snorted coldly, continued to pick up the porcelain bowl, and ate with a straight face.

Rong Zhen looked sideways slightly.

I am a little curious, have Mr. Song and Mr. Yu been so indifferent since they met? I used to think that these rumored seniors in the Luoyang court were very serious and serious.

Aunt Song has a straight face and is cold and ruthless. Rong Zhen frowns in thought and is also a man of few words.

There was silence again around the dinner table.

At this time, the sound of rain outside the door also stopped, and the bamboo house became empty.

The lively atmosphere failed.

The old musician sighed.

People all over the world say that a hundred years is like twirling one's fingers, and a life of seventy is rare.

But he……

The seventy-year-old musician shook his head.

Seventy, working overtime, afraid of cold violence in the workplace...

Just when the three of them were enjoying their meal quietly, and it was almost coming to an end, there was a creak, and the bamboo door of the small courtyard where the bamboo house was located was pushed open.

The three of them turned to look.

In front of the bamboo gate of the small courtyard, two slender female officials holding umbrellas stood.

"What's wrong?"

Rong Zhen picked up the dishes and spoke in a calm tone.

A female official holding an umbrella made a gesture and seemed to point in the direction of Xunyang City to the east.

The next moment.

The old musician, who was chewing his food carefully, found that the seat opposite him was empty.

His face was stunned for a moment.

He turned around and saw that the cold and cold girl in palace clothes was no longer in the courtyard. She had already hurried away with the two female officials holding umbrellas. Her rather short figure was leading the way. The two female officials holding umbrellas for the female historian behind her had umbrellas in their hands.

I was almost chased by the wind and couldn't keep up with anyone.

"Just bring him here next time...but why I can't pick him up? It's really troublesome..."

The old musician also faintly heard the intermittent voice of the young lady Rong coming from outside the hospital, seeming to be giving orders to the female officials holding umbrellas who came to report.

The bowl and chopsticks in his hands paused in mid-air.

"What's going on?"

Mother Song didn't even raise her head, she said coldly:

"There are people coming from Xunyang City."

"who?"

"Who else could it be? Ouyang Lianghan, the new bachelor of the Xiuwen Academy appointed by the saint, and currently acting as the governor of Jiangzhou."

The old musician touched his beard and asked curiously:

"How did Miss Song know this? I didn't even say a word when I saw the messenger. Do you, the female officers of the Tianjian, have a set of sign language now?"

The old woman's face was expressionless with white eyes.

I don't want to answer this question at all.

The old musician smiled:

"Young lady Rong Shi is really busy, and so are these juniors. Looking at it this way, the old man is quite relaxed. As for Miss Song, statues are being made in full swing outside. Aren't you busy at all?"

Aunt Song replied calmly: "If you don't have anything to say, you don't have to say it."

Old musician:......

Not long after, the two of them finished their lunch carefully.

Aunt Song didn't leave. She paced and wandered around in the bamboo house, stopping from time to time to look at some of the old musician's daily utensils, not knowing what they meant.

The old musician was not annoyed at all and cleared away the dishes at the table.

After the new rain, the bamboo forest in the empty mountain in the wild began to have a spring breeze, blowing into the bamboo gate.

Fresh and translucent.

The old musician rolled up his sleeves and half way through, his eyes covered with crow's feet narrowed in comfort. Then, he suddenly covered his mouth with a fist and arched his body.

"Cough cough cough cough..."

Nanny Song was walking to a desk. She seemed to see a manuscript on the desk from the corner of her eye. She picked it up and just looked at it when she suddenly heard a violent cough behind her.

She looked back and frowned:

"Why haven't you recovered from your tuberculosis? When you came here last time, didn't you tell me that you have a northern disease and the further south you go, the better?"

The old musician coughed for a while, then recovered, lowered his head and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He turned around and said with a cheerful smile:

"Didn't this stop and stop going south?"

The old musician's body was stooped, and his figure swayed slightly in the spring breeze at the door. He seemed a little weak, but his voice was not weak at all, and he smiled heartily:

"There is no rush to return home. It is important to repay the kindness to the saint first. Miss Song, don't worry too much."

Aunt Song put down the manuscript in her hand, with a straight face and a stiff tone:
To be continued...