The door to the thatched cottage opened, and out stepped a woman dressed in a peony-patterned qipao. She was fair and clean, tall and slender, with a lovely face. Around her neck hung a string of pearl necklaces, and on her feet were a pair of white high heels.
"Eh, isn't this the home of the old artist? Why do I feel like I've entered a brothel?"
Jiang Xiaobai had seen his share of women, and at a glance, he knew this one—with her charming eyes and brows, though quite attractive—appeared somewhat vulgar, so he knew she was no good woman.
"May I ask who is looking for my master?"
The woman spoke, her voice as crisp and pleasant as that of an oriole, most delightful to hear.
"Hou Zhen is your husband?" Jiang Xiaobai thought, this old artist really knew how to pick the young and beautiful ones.
