In the quiet room, a teapot made of sandalwood sat on a tea table, its white teacups gleaming like snow, releasing a gentle fragrance that drifted between the two people.
Li Qingyue turned to him her bright eyes sparkling like clear water. With a smile on her face, she asked, “You didn’t bring me a jar of fine wine, did you?”
Qin Ming, his hair as dark as night and his eyes full of spirit, chuckled at the memory of the past and shook his head. “This time, it’s not wine, but it might really leave you a little tipsy.”
“Oh? What is it then?” Li Qingyue asked, her curiosity piqued.
In the tranquil elegant space, there were exquisite tea sets, as well as desks and writing materials. He took out paper, ready to inscribe two particularly mysterious scriptures.
Li Qingyue also stood up gracefully and approached the desk, offering to grind ink for him herself.
Her consciousness sparkled with a golden light, illuminating the misty air around her. She had a sharp instinct and sensed that something was happening that would quietly influence her future.