The Consort of the R

After speaking, she closed her eyes, a rare weariness settling on her brow. She lay back in her chair, tilting her head slightly. Her ink-black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, save for the section pulled up and adorned with a peachwood hairpin. Her slender waist was cinched tight, the folds of her skirt billowing gently around her as she swayed slightly with the breeze. Two sashes hung from her waist, rippling in the wind.,This is a place where we talk about romantic affairs and have nothing to do with mundane matters. All the people here are performers who only sell their art, not themselves. We have both men and women, and they are skilled in all sorts of things: music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, songwriting, singing, dancing, theater, and casual chatter. We've got it all.,Lan You was at her wit's end. She turned her head and glared at the person lounging lazily in a chair: "Can you please stop eating melon seeds"。