Night fell, and it was time to retire.
Ji Qingwu changed into her nightgown. Her long, freshly dried hair cascaded around her, filling the room with her personal fragrance.
She sent Lan Zhi off to rest and propped herself against the headboard. Instead of blowing out the candle, she quietly pulled a blue-covered book from under her pillow.
Following Mrs. Qiao's instructions, Ji Qingwu would flip through it every night before bed.
Judging by its cover, the book looked no different from an ordinary scripture. Inside, however, was a different world entirely—a collection of short stories that made one's face flush and heart race.
The stories were beautifully written, and the depiction of *those* acts was both meticulous and stimulating.
Especially now that she had some experience, she could appreciate them on a whole new level. Ji Qingwu felt her own heart begin to pound in time with the story.
"What are you reading so intently?"
A voice sounded beside her ear.
