Somewhere in the secluded wilderness, glistening rocks guided a spring to the waters below. It was a place where pen might meet paper.
There were three beautiful women there and then, dancing beneath the mesmerising moonlight, between the spring and the mountains. Their movements spoke of elegance, and their silhouettes carried the grace of a sparrow.
Had angels themselves descended into mortality? They must have, for surely none in this realm could compare. In the words of the Immortal Poet Li Bai, this was a beauty worthy of the goddess's abode.
Not far away from the flitting women, a tough yet graceful looking man watched as he busied himself with peanuts and some pork. Usually, people would regard this as an absolute ruin for the atmosphere, but Fang Ning had different ideas.
