After the late cold spell, Beijing's spring had finally made its grand entrance, bold and vibrant.
New, tender buds sprouted from the willow trees in the Summer Palace, and the stalwart poplars sprouted soft yellow leaves. In Kunming Lake, the number of water-playing tourists had clearly increased, their laughter echoing across the rippling surface of the lake.
Mu Xiangwan, having been cooped up at home for several days, was growing increasingly irritable. On a fine afternoon, she decided to go sketching in the Summer Palace.
The gentle spring breeze brushed against her face, mingling with the scent of fresh grass, injecting a touch of green into her long sullen mood. As Mu Xiangwan focused on painting the distant Wanshou Mountain and Foxiang Pavilion, she was oblivious to the figure that had been standing behind her for a while.
