Now it's three-thirty in the afternoon, and the sky outside is more than a little cold.
Although the snow isn't heavy, the howling northern wind shows no signs of stopping, carrying along snowflakes like goose feathers, spinning around the streets, and landing on pedestrians' bodies and faces, taking them by surprise.
Hearing Zheng Qing's confusion, the Gypsy witch straightens up from the storefront window of the candy man shop, turns her head, lifts her hand to brush off the snowflakes on her hair, and looks lively at young scholar. There is laughter in her eyes and eyebrows, "Cold? Why would it be cold? How could it be cold? We are wizards! We have magic!"
With that, she stretches her arm in front of the young male wizard.
A rich fragrance emanates from the witch's body, intoxicating and leaving the young scholar a bit flustered, with his eyes and hands unsure where to rest.
