At the top of the lush, verdant tree, two pieces of red silk fluttered in the wind, entwined and nestled together.
Bai Zhi'er squinted at them, while Feng Fuce beside her felt quite satisfied.
But her heart forever felt as if it was submerged in an ice cavern, tormented.
After returning to the palace, Feng Fuce sensed she was not in high spirits and wanted to accompany her.
But Bai Zhi'er managed to persuade him to attend to his own affairs, and only then did Feng Fuce leave.
Later, Bai Zhi'er mustered her courage and walked to the outside of Mengxian Palace.
She hesitated for quite a while, and just as she was about to enter, she stood at the doorway, witnessing inside the pavilion her father and mother leaning on each other.
Bai Xilie was holding Jing Jia's hand, practicing calligraphy.
Jing Jia smiled, "Why is your writing still so ugly?"
Bai Xilie furrowed his sword-like brows, "You distinctly said it looked good yesterday when practicing."
