Qingyi wrapped Feiyan in a tight embrace from behind, his large hands settling over hers as he followed the gentle, circular motions with which they stirred the cauldron together.
The heat radiating from the flames danced across his wife's tanned skin, and the dense aroma of spiritual herbs permeated every corner of the pavilion.
Beads of sweat trickled down those huge tanned tits, the plump globes half-spilling from the revealing neckline of her robe and glistening beneath the firelight.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do. When it came to alchemy, he was simply terrible—and well, alchemy was something far more complicated than beating someone to death.
Alchemy was an art of meticulous detail, where even the slightest variation in the flow of Qi or the tiniest error in refining the ingredients could result in an inferior pill—or worse, a complete failure.
