June the third.
Green stems swayed, creating delicate ripples.
By late morning, the coolness penetrated from the pond, where lotuses were in full bloom, and sparkling waves danced on the unfolded pink petals.
The Wulong lay on the ground, tongue sticking out.
Liang Qu, Fubo, sat with his legs stretched out, his back to the pond as he sat in the shade under the eaves, peeling a large yellow peach. He took a bite—a good half of it—wiped the juice from his mouth, and turned the page of the book in his hands.
Having returned to Pingyang Prefecture the day before, he had received quite a bit of news and events throughout most of the day and this morning.
Among them, four matters were of importance.
One was a gold paper invitation from the Sky Vessel Commerce Association.
June the eighteenth, just like last year, the date remained unchanged.
