A new work is out! Everyone is welcome to visit the book page and read it.
“Boom!”
A dull crash, accompanied by the sharp crack of splintering wood, erupted in the boudoir in the back courtyard of the Dong’e residence on an early morning.
Lin Qingyao froze where she was, still half sitting, atop a bed of shattered rosewood. The fine wooden bedframe had snapped in two down the middle. Its posts leaned crookedly, the curtains hung halfway down, and dust drifted through the morning light streaming in past the window lattice.
She looked down at the hand braced against the broken edge: slender and pale, with neatly rounded nails. It was the hand of a proper Manchu noblewoman. Yet that very hand had just pressed down lightly, purely on instinct as she tried to steady herself, and the sturdy bedframe had crumpled like a crisp biscuit.
The writing is the story, the lifting is you. Thank you for every reading and preference, and we will continue to travel together in the future.