The Journey of a Pseudo-Art Woman

Chapter 2
Ji Xiaomo felt as if he had slept for a long, long time, and had a long dream, and those pictures were fragmented and pieced together...

The man and the scene in the dream slowly changed from blurry to clear, the black ink hair fluttered in the wind, and the crescent-colored robe flowed all over the ground with the moonlight... The graceful movement was played between the fingertips, she I wanted to see his face clearly, but the ink-like hair blocked his face, and I could only vaguely see a faint smile on the corner of his mouth...

Ji Xiaomo was dizzy and tried to open her eyes, but she was so exhausted that she almost lost her strength, dizzy, her stomach was overwhelmed, and she almost vomited...

"Touch!" The sound of a teacup breaking broke the originally quiet room...

"Three, Miss San, are you awake?" A woman in the room was startled, turned around to look at the teacup accidentally broken by Ji Xiaomo, walked quickly to the bedside and saw her wake up, and then quickly asked.

His voice was extremely hoarse, with a little trembling and joy...

"What's wrong with me." The voice was soft, but it was so strange that Ji Xiaomo herself was taken aback. She slowly opened her eyes...

When he saw his surroundings clearly, Ji Xiaomo was startled for a moment, and found himself lying on a carved bed, with lilac-colored curtains hanging down, and a faint fragrance inside the brocade quilt...

Looking around, the tables and chairs carved from high-quality sandalwood in the house are meticulously carved with different patterns, and the delicate and gentle tenderness belonging to the daughter's family circulates everywhere.

Beside the bamboo window, there are a few pieces of rice paper on the rosewood table, a few brushes on the inkstone, and a few budding chrysanthemums on the rice paper. The delicate brushwork seems to declare that the owner of the boudoir is also sentimental.

The purple tulle hung on the bamboo window hangs down to the ground, and unknown patterns seem to be outlined on the fabric, fluttering with the wind blowing slowly outside the window...

"Where am I? I remember I fainted, and then, who sent me here, and who are you, why are you dressed so strangely?" Ji Xiaomo looked at Ji Xiaomo and felt like I slept for a long, long time, and had a long dream. Those pictures were fragmented and pieced together...

The man and the scene in the dream slowly changed from blurry to clear, the black ink hair fluttered in the wind, and the crescent-colored robe flowed all over the ground with the moonlight... The graceful movement was played between the fingertips, she I wanted to see his face clearly, but the ink-like hair blocked his face, and I could only vaguely see a faint smile on the corner of his mouth...

Ji Xiaomo was dizzy and tried to open her eyes, but she was so exhausted that she almost lost her strength, dizzy, her stomach was overwhelmed, and she almost vomited...

"Touch!" The sound of a teacup breaking broke the originally quiet room...

"Three, Miss San, are you awake?" A woman in the room was startled, turned around to look at the teacup accidentally broken by Ji Xiaomo, walked quickly to the bedside and saw her wake up, and then quickly asked.

His voice was extremely hoarse, with a little trembling and joy...

"What's wrong with me." The voice was soft, but it was so strange that Ji Xiaomo herself was taken aback. She slowly opened her eyes...

When he saw his surroundings clearly, Ji Xiaomo was startled for a moment, and found himself lying on a carved bed, with lilac-colored curtains hanging down, and a faint fragrance inside the brocade quilt...

Looking around, the tables and chairs carved from high-quality sandalwood in the house are meticulously carved with different patterns, and the delicate and gentle tenderness belonging to the daughter's family circulates everywhere.

Beside the bamboo window, there are a few pieces of rice paper on the rosewood table, a few brushes on the inkstone, and a few budding chrysanthemums on the rice paper. The delicate brushwork seems to declare that the owner of the boudoir is also sentimental.

(End of this chapter)