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Qinglian Pavilion.
A boudoir.
A small window that used to be tightly shut was now gently pushed open by two Jade Hands.
The afternoon autumn sunshine delivered an oblique ray of light into the room, pausing on a rosewood desk.
It covered most of the desk surface.
And just like this pale golden autumn sun, there were also those white sheets of letter paper.
The desk was strewn with letters.
At a certain moment.
A delicate finger quietly extended, picking up a pristine sheet of paper.
Under the sunshine, this slender finger was even whiter than the paper, and the jade-like finger pads were carefully caressing, slowly tracing the well-formed characters on the paper surface.
The lady seated in front of the desk stared blankly with a pair of eyes filled with the mist of autumn water, her gaze lustrous.
These were the love letters Zhao Rong had written to her.
However, each piece of letter paper was not covered with his beautiful words, but rather with large blank spaces.
