Mist shrouded the cold waters, and the moon enshrouded the sands.
Within Xingqing Palace, Xiao Hongyu bit her lip, her gaze hazy, her body now clad in a complicated palace dress, perfectly concealing her tempting figure.
At this moment, she sat in the palace, surrounded by fragrant mists, dressing herself in front of a bronze mirror. The mirror reflected her enchanting, flawless beauty, almost without a single imperfection.
Time passed slowly, and her eyes were full of confusion as if contemplating something. On the dressing table, there also lay a portrait.
Tall and straight, his face expressionless, his eyes so cold and deep, they commanded awe—it was a portrait of Fang Yang, the Demon Lord.
Nowadays, many girls and women in the capital owned this portrait.
But none of their portraits captured the essence and life-like quality like Xiao Hongyu's did.
It was enough to while away the long nights.
