His body stiffened, his pen paused, and the ink stains spread out on the paper. His whole person seemed to be shrouded in shadow, and his expression could not be seen. His voice was surprisingly calm: Muer, you are blaming me. Mu'er, I can still marry you as my concubine, and I will be kind to you. We can still be like before, I teach you swordsmanship, you make tea for me, and the peach blossom tree we planted two years ago, how beautiful the flowers bloom, and when it bears fruit in the summer, it can also be made into your favorite peach cake...