The young girl's voice was cool and detached: "Monks are so common, what's the point of watching a tonsure ceremony?"
The bond between her and Lu Shiyan had long been worn away during those days when he had forced her to become his concubine.
To her, Lu Shiyan was no different from the other monks in Ciyin Temple.
Dew slid down the tip of the banana leaf above her head, landing squarely on Shen Yinning's brow. Lu Ying clasped her waist and lowered his head to kiss away the droplet, then pressed delicate kisses upon her cheek, her lips, and finally her tender, full lips.
The girl's hairpin tumbled to the ground, and her loosely arranged hair cascaded down like fine silk.
Shen Yinning turned and hit him: "I just did my hair, and now it's messy again—"
Lu Ying paid no heed.
He held her wrists firmly, prying open her lips and teeth to intermingle their breaths.
