Library

At eleven o'clock in the evening, only Shen Qinghuan's office area in the office building was still lit. After typing the last paragraph of text on the computer screen, she took a gentle breath, saved it, and closed the document. This is the final draft of a column she wrote for "Urban Emotion" magazine. It tells the story of three men and women who grew up together, the love they missed and the price of choice in ten years.

Consciousness is like a stone sunk at the bottom of the water, being violently pulled out of the water by a brute force. Jiang Yao opened her eyes. What you see is a dazzling bright yellow, embroidered with a coiled dragon showing its teeth and claws. The curtains are heavy, and the air is filled with the strong smell of blood and bitter medicine, as well as a lingering cold sandalwood fragrance that is unique to the palace. "Wake up! Your Majesty is awake!" A high-pitched voice shouted with a cry. The person who threw herself in front of the bed was a round-faced palace maid with red and swollen eyes. She was none other than the original owner Jiang Yao's personal maid, Bitao.

Come to China Literature's website to read more of my works!