In the late spring of the third year of Xianchun, the rain in Lin'an City always had a sticky feeling that could not be broken away.
The lacquered goose woke up from the cold.
A biting chill spread from the hard board beneath her, mixed with a faint musty smell, causing her to shrink her shoulders subconsciously. This action involved the wound on her left arm, and a sharp pain caused her to open her eyes suddenly - what she saw was a dusty tent ceiling, and the texture of the burlap made her skin feel astringent. It was definitely not her apartment with a velvet mattress.
"Hiss..." She gasped and struggled to sit up, but was held down by a skinny hand.
"Girl, don't move, the wound has just been treated with medicine." An old voice sounded in the ear, with a strong Wuyue accent.
