Inside Qinglian Pavilion courtyard.
There stood a three-story small building with its windows tightly shut.
If one were to ignore the whirlpool of spiritual energy spinning counterclockwise above it, visible to the naked eye, and the astonished gazes swiftly gathering from all directions,
then the three-story building seemed no different from usual.
Ordinary and quiet.
Inside the building, a long red lacquer table was rather cluttered.
Apart from thirty-one pieces of flower-patterned paper spread open.
There were also March's fireworks, April's spring breeze, Southern Country's red beans, and North Country's maple leaves.
And even willows shrouded in spring mist, grass growing and orioles flying, travelers passing by, with black hair turning white...
Shortly after Zhao Rong finished writing.
Zhao Lingfei saw these 'varied' landscapes on her desk.
Leaving her dazzled.
The desk sometimes resembled the human world in April:
