Zhu Menmou: the Sweetheart of Lord Chief Assistant

Shen Qingyi put down the old writing brush in his hand, which had a split tip, and breathed lightly on his fingers that were almost numb from the cold. On the table in front of her, there is an old yellowed account book spread out. The ink was just added by her, recording the pitiful amount of deductions this month: three measures of brown rice, half a basket of old charcoal, two taels of lamp oil, monthly money... Nothing.