"Little palace maid, buried in a dry well -" I suddenly opened my eyes amid the sound of the golden hairpin cutting through the embroidery. The nursery rhyme hummed by Concubine Xue overlapped with the sound of filling the soil in the previous life and pierced my eardrums. The smell of blood and mud from the dry well still lingered in his throat, but his fingertips were holding the embroidery that should have been transferred. The noble concubine's thoughts came in like a poisonous snake: "The gardenia of this humble servant actually has the same pattern as Mrs. Xie's medicine box... Damn it, why haven't Concubine De's people changed the embroidery yet?"
