She is the city's return at night, steeped in the fragrance of poetry and ink.
He is the gentlest of villains, obeying her every word.
Her brush glides, dipped in ink ground from an ink stick; Hui-style paper lies pure and white.
Her brushwork, her thoughts.
#The Female Painter and Her Collector#
◆How could my love for you be a passing whim?◆
Author's column:
*A series manuscript*
I have wandered for so long, and I have loved you for so long.
