"Yes," Si Fuqing nodded, "the book says this was carried by EmperorYin during his battles. Should I donate it to the museum?"
JI Xingzhi seemed to understand her heart perfectly.
Yu Xiheng put down his teacup and gestured, "Come here."
"Hm?" Si Fuqing walked over with the mask, bending down, "Boss, is your leg bothering you?"
Yu Xiheng didn't respond, instead taking the black and gold mask from her hand.
Then, he raised his hand and pressed the mask against her face.
Si Fuqing felt the coolness of his fingertips brushing her skin and the sudden sharp scent of osmanthus on a clear moonlit night.
Although the mask was larger than her face, it miraculously fit perfectly once applied.
The creator of the mask was self-evident.
The unparalleled Mo family, masters of mechanical arts.
The man leaned back on the sofa, his grey suit conveying his decisiveness and rigor.
