Song Lianhe had been in low spirits ever since seeing Song Xilan.
The Imperial City, the court, the throne... 'Whoever wants them can have them!'
It was June, and the mountain air was cool. She sat on a lounge chair inside, nibbling on glutinous rice cakes that Shuang Ye had prepared for her. Ah Jun handed her a cup of jasmine tea—a new batch freshly scented at the temple.
Song Lianhe sipped her tea leisurely, glancing at the man sitting ramrod straight on the daybed across from her.
Zhou Yang had three needles sticking out of his head and rows of them piercing his shoulders, elbows, and hands. He was so exhausted that sweat beaded on his forehead, yet he didn't dare move an inch.
"Alright, time's up."
As soon as she spoke, Shuang Ye stepped forward and removed the needles one by one.
Zhou Yang collapsed onto the daybed. 'At my age, and after having one foot through the Ghost Gate, sitting perfectly still for a full hour is no easy feat.'
