Impulsiveness is a devil. ------ An old proverb of Beamon.
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Liu Zhenhan stood at the bank's toll booth, squinting at the other side. The river breeze was strong, blowing against his bare chest, his golden hair and chest hair dancing together. Guoguo perched on his shoulder, chewing on some snacks nonchalantly.
The toll booth, in essence, was just a thatched hut. Ning Yu and Avril sat inside, a night pearl resting in front of them, anchoring a pile of parchment and a goose quill pen on the wooden table.
The Night Pearl emitted a gentle warmth, soothing and comfortable, much like the warmth of Richard's chest.
The two beauties relished this rare warmth in winter, while skillfully crafting vine armors with small knives and wild grape vines, exchanging thoughts on patterns from time to time.
