"A letter?"
In the simple and austere "palace," Ying Yuan propped her cheek with her hand, lying on the duck-down bed veiled with curtains, her bare feet white and delicate, swinging back and forth, almost dazzling in their whiteness.
"Yes."
Ying Yuan nodded weakly and turned over languidly, her light brown skin soft and smooth under the muslin. She stretched out her hand, spread her fingers, then curled them into a small fist, and said with a mixture of distress, "I want to write a letter."
"Then write one."
As she flipped through the Book of Si Sheng, the former Queen of Loulan glanced at Ying Yuan, who looked like a little girl beside her, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly in a teasing tone, "There's a Gaoma Station in our city that sends letters to Da Ming, isn't it simple to send one? Or is it that the young lady misses her lover so much, she can't even write a letter anymore?"
"I... I..."
