When Ning Fu opened her eyes again, she was sitting amid a carpet of begonia petals.
Her fourteen-year-old palms still held their soft, youthful smoothness. A dewy begonia branch brushed her cheek, tickling her. Nearby, familiar hoofbeats rang out, breaking the silence of a spring morning.
She jerked her head up and saw a young man dressed in black dismount. The jade pendant at his waist swayed gently with his movements, reflecting the coldness in his brows like frost that had yet to melt away in winter.
"Thank you, young master, for saving my life." Ning Fu's voice trembled slightly. This scene was all too familiar. In her previous life, Zong Si had rescued her here too, and from
