As night fell, the summer heat had not yet faded, and below the two-zhang-wide eaves of the Qishun Building a solitary-plank encircling bed was placed, simple and rustic. The wood emitted a refreshing scent of agarwood, and aligned on the tea table beside the Arhat bed were plates of various fruits; bright red lychees swirled within a glass jar filled with ice water, and the sweet aroma of pears mixed with the scent of the wood, as if soaked in honey.
Due to the heat, the pastries brought from the small kitchen were very delicate and tiny, the lifelike flowers, and the vivid little animal sculptures all temptingly crafted to catch the eye and prompt one to take a bite.
Zheng Nianru had no appetite, idly fiddling with her fragrance pouch with an inexplicable touch of displeasure.
