Golden Emerald Tail

The moon rose above the western tower, and the lamps glowed like tiny beans.

In the warm room of the west wing, Wu Qingyan leaned against a flower-carved chair. Though she held a shoe pattern in her hands, seeming ready to stitch its sole, her thoughts were elsewhere. They had already flown to the shadow that kept moving beyond the study's window lattice.

It was nearly four in the morning. Ever since the group of men in bamboo hats, wrapped head to toe in black, had entered the Mu residence, she had not known a moment's peace. Her eyelid began to twitch uncontrollably. With a pained little cry, she let out a soft moan. Distracted, she had pricked her finger on the sharp needle. When she raised her hand, a bright red drop of blood rolled from her fingertip and fell onto her snow-white skirt, blooming into a vivid flower like a red plum blossom.

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