Not long ago, Zhao Rong silently left Qinglian Pavilion after a short while.
Inside the boudoir, a woman whose Heart Lake had undergone a great change suddenly opened her eyes. Not seeing someone's figure, she hurriedly looked around, then grabbed the hem of her blue-gold skirt with both hands and dashed downstairs, disregarding her image.
That fleeting silhouette in blue-gold sprinted all the way, ignoring the crowd watching on both sides, and ignoring the senior sisters who smiled and greeted her to get close.
The thirty-one pieces of classified poetry that spontaneously accompanied her had no time to hide and directly left Qinglian Pavilion, running towards the gate of Nanci Mansion.
Under the golden sunlight approaching noon, pieces of paper among flowers around the sprinting woman still had half of their poems lighting up in sequence as they were being classified.
