Qing Jun was, after all, a Fairy of stunning beauty, her grace profound and affection far-reaching, pure and genuine. Her skin was delicate and smooth with an even distribution of flesh and bone, and at this moment, she wore only a sheer pink midriff, which, despite its snug and slender fit, only served to highlight her exquisitely sculpted figure.
In the mandarin duck bath, the beauty was enchanting, with warm spring water caressing creamy skin, a scene of coy rain and shy clouds filled with thick emotion, every frown and smile dripping with allure.
Her soaked thin silk clung tightly, revealing a clear and icy complexion, with a snowiness that was as fragrant as cream, too embarrassed to face her beloved:
"Don't look, don't look..."
Zhao Rong nodded, and the very next second, he stopped looking and instead, leaned forward.
Held like a pipa at an angle in embrace, left to the mercy of fingers that play the notes of Gong Shang.
