In the ten-mile-long gallery, a cold jade bed lay quietly in place.
Everything appeared so elegant, so composed.
Yet the atmosphere atop the bed was incredibly enchanting, suggestive. The Empress Dowager bit her lip lightly, her cheeks flushed, her temples moist with perspiration.
Her brow furrowed from time to time, her breathing becoming somewhat hurried.
The snowy whiteness of her collarbones, the graceful curves, and the faint fragrance emanating from her body were all so intoxicating, bewitching.
Now, she was cultivating with Fang Yang, engaged in the dual cultivation of a mystical art.
Right on this bed of celestial ecstasy.
The Demon Lord's formidable power, the surging flow of his breath, made her feel almost as if she was ascending to immortality, especially in her bewildered state of mind.
Unconsciously, she lightly activated the communication jade.
