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Palace Garden Florist.
The night was hazy, and Xu Zhongsheng sat alone under a pavilion, with a small charcoal stove in front of him glowing red.
This faint red light, in an environment devoid of any technological elements, created an atmosphere of returning to ancient times.
Ding ding.
Suddenly, a tiny alert sound spread to his ears.
Xu Zhongsheng's expression remained unchanged, still in his plain white clothes, he lifted his hand to place a precisely measured tea bag into the clay pot, then filled the pot with water, and gently placed it on the charcoal stove.
"Speak, what is it?" After doing all this, he finally raised his head and lightly tapped three times in the air in front of him.
At once, a fan-shaped, tea-colored light screen emerged, floating in front of him.
The screen was more than ten centimeters away from him, displaying the somewhat panicked face of a short-haired, muscular man.
