Ling Hua repeatedly caressed the lake-blue coarse cloth that Yan Qing had given her, cherishing it immensely.
Since her childhood, she had always worn countless fine silks and satins, the best among them not even purchasable by others, yet hers to have at her whim. She also had worn coarse clothes before, being less particular when traveling away from the Capital, occasionally needing to disguise herself in rough garb.
Such a piece of coarse cloth wasn't worth much; you could buy it with a wave of your hand at any market, in copious amounts.
But because it had passed through Yan Qing's hands, him having worked since last night weaving with the old lady well into the late hours, continuing his labor this morning, this was the first cloth he ever weaved. It just felt different from those sold in the markets.
