Lin Jin spoke and boldly glanced at Wei Shu.
It is said that His Majesty of this dynasty possesses unparalleled beauty, even surpassing the most stunning women.
Lin Jin never believed it.
Yet this one glance made her pupils shrink abruptly.
Too beautiful!
The man reclined lazily in his soft chair, his eyes closed, fatigue and worry etched between his brows.
His skin was as white as milk, emitting a radiant luster under the candlelight. His thin lips, untouched yet crimson, bore the pale pink of spring's blossoming peach flowers.
Not overly striking, tinged with a sickly frailty, yet irresistibly pitiable.
It stirred a longing to press those lips with her fingers, to taste them with her tongue, to know what flavor lay hidden in their delicate allure.
Lin Jin often passed time reading romance tales.
According to the stories, foxes that cultivate for millennia take human form, embodying the most enchanting, seductive figures imaginable.
