The Cold-Faced Prince's Xinglin Wife

In March in Jiangnan, the rain is like weaving. The bluestone roads in Gusu City were soaked by the drizzle, giving them a dark, oily sheen. The white walls and black tiles on both sides of the street spread open in the rain and fog, like an ink painting that has not yet dried. On the canal, the awning boat passed slowly, and the soft words of the boat girl came through the rain, so soft that they seemed to melt into the water.