Unknowingly, icy sleet began to fall in the capital again, drifting and sprinkling, unlike the softness of snowflakes, more like salt grains falling on the eaves.
Inside Shuanghua Residence, it was unusually quiet, with the sound of sparks bursting from the charcoal in the stove from time to time. The empty gold silk carved incense burner beside it had been wiped daily, otherwise, it would have been covered in dust.
Lin Jiaojiao, sitting at the table, told Shiyi a very long and heavy story. As Shiyi listened, she felt that the story was sad and ridiculous.
As Lin Jiaojiao told the story, her slender, warm fingertips gently twirled around the rim of the cup, spinning it continuously in her hand.
The story quickly approached its end, and after it was finished, Lin Jiaojiao lowered her eyelids and fell into silence.
