"Several times I've sat beneath the flowers, playing the flute, the Milky Way and red walls stretching into the distance. The stars tonight are not those of last night; for whom do I stand in the wind and dew at midnight? My lingering thoughts are like silkworms unraveling their cocoons, my heart aches like a banana peeled from its shell. Three or five years ago, in the third or fifth month of the year, alas, the wine in my cup has never been emptied..."
A soft, melodious female voice echoed in the empty courtyard. With a sigh, a glass cup was spilled from her fingertips, the crimson wine dripping onto the hem of her plain silk skirt, like blood.
The woman leaned languidly on the chaise longue, her soft, thin dress hugging her graceful figure. Her skin was so white that you could almost see the veins throbbing beneath her exposed wrists; she was delicate and beautiful.
Her breathing was light and shallow, her beautiful eyes were closed, her slender eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and her lips were slightly parted, as if she were half asleep and half awake.
A steady set of footsteps approached and stopped beside her.
The woman's eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as she slowly lifted her eyelids.
A fleeting glint of coldness and resolve flashed in her eyes, so unlike her outward appearance, like a pure white, delicate flower growing atop the coldest and most dangerous snow-capped mountain, making people hesitant to approach.
She looked up at the person who had come, and all the ice and snow in her eyes melted away, replaced by a warm smile.
"Feng An, thank you for your hard work."
The man was dressed in black, his long hair simply tied into a ponytail hanging down his back. His face clearly showed the fatigue of a long journey, but upon hearing her words, his gloom vanished, and his dark eyes lit up again.
He smiled, and the woman propped herself up to sit, making room for him and gesturing for him to sit.
"Any new information?"
Feng An did not sit down. He bent down and lifted the woman's skirt, which was hanging on the ground. He ran his fingertips over the wine stains, and the stains disappeared in an instant.
As he moved, a thin silver thread slid out from his sleeve, so fine it seemed to have a life of its own.
He glanced down at it, his eyes indifferent, and then tucked it back into his sleeve.
"As the Fox Lord predicted, things are progressing smoothly, and I believe that the grand plan will be successful soon."
Upon hearing this, the woman smiled broadly, clapped her hands with delight, and said "good" three times in a row.
"This is truly wonderful news, Feng An! Let's drink together tonight, until we're both drunk! Quick, bring the wine!"
As soon as he finished speaking, two figures emerged from the thin mist, carrying wine jugs and cups. They were short and thin, with very strange proportions—their bodies were as thin as bamboo poles, but their heads were as big as if they were wearing the headgear of a New Year's picture doll.
The most bizarre thing is that the places where they should have facial features are completely empty, like blank sheets of paper. The clothes they wear are a mix of narrow-sleeved short shirts from the Tang Dynasty and brocade horse-face garments from the Ming Dynasty. They are clearly children, but the hairstyles they wear are the "huixin" buns worn by married women. It looks very incongruous, as if it were a product of an amateur's random combination based on their intuition.
The woman seemed oblivious to these oddities. She smiled and looked them over, even pinching their cheeks as they approached. She looked at the man with a smug expression, her tone unconsciously revealing a touch of girlish naiveté.
"Feng An, the two little figures you left me last time are gone, so I drew new ones myself. What do you think? Aren't they nice?"
Feng An's gaze froze for a moment, then quickly revealed an expression of appreciation, "What the Fox Lord made is naturally several times better than mine."
The woman, satisfied with the reply, turned away with a smile and watched them neatly arrange the dishes on the table.
Feng An's smile faded. He looked at the woman's increasingly thin profile, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes filled with unconcealed worry and hesitation.
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