Haitang Chongshan

About This Novel

It was the time when the begonias were half-covered again, and the spring was cold. Zhao Zijiu came in from outside the house, shook off the wind and frost on her body, and put breakfast on the Eight Immortals table in the courtyard. I leaned on the bamboo rocking chair beside the table, drank soy milk, and squinted my eyes in comfort. If it hadn't been for that, perhaps this comfort could have lasted for a long time.

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