Inside the White Jade Flyer, Fang Yang's robe was billowing, his black hair dancing wildly, his gaze deep, as he looked out beyond the craft, watching the endless autumn rain.
From beginning to end, his gaze never fell upon Situ Danyue, as if he didn't care at all for her answer.
The atmosphere gradually became more solemn, Situ Danyue pursed her lips tightly, her face pale, her eyes revealing a struggle, a mix of shame and rage.
Her earlobes were still slightly red, and her full and pert buttocks were sending waves of searing pain.
She even felt that on her skin, as smooth as mutton fat jade, there might already be a few finger marks.
And these, were all left by her master.
A son not taught is the father's fault; once a teacher, a lifetime a father.
These words seemed quite meaningful, an image of a righteous gentleman, but he had read too many classics on the subject over the years, and thus knew very well, some people have particular fetishes.
