The morning light is hazy, like a thin veil seeping through the intricately carved wooden window, quietly permeating the bridal chamber filled with rich fragrances.
The light casts a vague beam in the air drenched with indolence and flirtation, with fine dust particles floating leisurely within.
The air is so thick it almost congeals, carrying mostly the scent of sweat and passion, where three distinct feminine scents have mingled and intertwined, becoming inseparable.
On the spacious wedding bed, the scene is breathtaking.
Qin Qingluo sleeps on the outermost side; even in deep sleep, her tall and athletic figure exudes an undeniable majesty. She lies flat with her ink-black hair spread across the pillow, a few strands sticking to her sweat-dampened neck and forehead. The normally sharp and cold snake-like eyes are tightly shut, her sword-like brows slightly furrowed, and long eyelashes casting a gentle shadow, softening her fierce valiance.
