Upon waking up, the window had overnight grown thick with ice crystal flowers, standing like rows of cedars, braving the wind and snow, proudly erect.
Xiang Wei, having heard Yueyao's description, complained, "It's so cold that my bones are shivering, yet here you are, facing the wind and snow with such pride. Ah, no wonder they say all scholars are lunatics." What were indeed deadly cold ice crystal flowers were spoken of so beautifully.
Yueyao did not deign to address Xiang Wei's complaints, "This high-end stuff is beyond your comprehension." Discussing what art is with a foodie was not a masochistic hobby Yueyao indulged in.
Xiang Wei snorted, "Scholars are of no practical use; other than romanticizing wind, flowers, snow, and the moon, what else do they do but moan about nonexistent ailments?" According to Xiang Wei, scholars were just a waste of rice.
Yueyao chuckled and, paying her no mind, took her snow-white fox fur cloak and went out.
