Wen Sheng had just managed to regain a bit of strength, but her cheeks were still pale with a flush of redness. The clear deer-like eyes at the bottom were filled with watery light, stained with a few strokes of the tender spring, and sweat beads on her forehead had dampened her hair strands, some of which clung to her creamy skin, making her whole face appear even more fair and delicate, and almost purely refined.
The long, dishevelled hair was scattered in an orderly manner, seemingly random, yet surpassing meticulous grooming. Adorned by many clusters of black hair, her petite chin moved downwards, her slender beautiful swan neck ended in beautiful collarbones.
Fu Yanlin's eyes were fixed on the juncture of the collarbone and clothes, and the slightly undulating whiteness. His burning throat rolled involuntarily. Even though the hoarse voice just then was not his, once he opened his mouth now, his voice appeared hoarse, "Asheng, I'm going to start now."
