Gallery of Shili, where leaves fell in a flutter.
Layers upon layers of spring miasma continued to weave and linger, shrouding the entire Gallery of Shili within, faint and hazy, emanating an enchanting aura.
In the midst of this gallery, Fang Yang's robe billowed, his gaze icy, his pupils so deep and so chilling, as if they were the abyss itself.
Before him, the Empress's clothes had long been shed, revealing the snow-white skin like jade, still tinged with layers of blush.
Drenched in fragrant sweat, red silk threads covered her entire body.
And those copper bells continued to sway, so crisp, so melodious.
Unconsciously, they made one hasten their strike, as if a deadly rhythm had been added.
Fang Yang even wanted to stand up and stomp!
All this naturally became too much for the Empress, her throat emitting sticky sounds, her skin quivering incessantly.
The slave mark on her forehead kept flashing unbearably dazzling, so eye-catching.
