"Miss Tushan?"
Seeing the woman walking down the street, Liu Shui froze, her steps halting involuntarily.
Miss Tushan was walking beside another woman.
She was dressed in a Daoist Robe, her waist as slender as a willow branch, as if it would snap with the slightest touch.
The tassels of her silk sash hung at her side, swaying gently with each breath.
The front of her Daoist Robe was slightly open, revealing the moon-white undergarment within. Though the robe was loose, it couldn't hide her graceful figure, the fabric stretching taut over the full curve of her chest.
Her eyes were exceptionally clear, like water in a mountain stream, flowing quietly. She had a fine, straight nose and lips of a natural, pale red, without a hint of powder or rouge. The line of her jaw was soft, resembling a faint crescent moon in profile.
Although Liu Shui hadn't seen Tushan Jing Ci in three years, this woman bore an uncanny resemblance to her, as if cast from the very same mold.
