A jarring cold seeped into Qingxue's bones, and she woke to the scent of cedar and aged silk. She was lying on a massive bed draped with deep violet and gold embroidery. A hazy morning light filtered through elaborate wooden screens, illuminating a room that was less a bedroom and more a royal chamber—ornate, ancient, and undeniably beautiful.
Ancient costume, royal room… here we go again, Qingxue thought, sitting up.
She glanced down, confirming the rich, elaborate robes she was wearing. Then her eyes darted to the other side of the vast bed. And froze.
A man was sleeping soundly next to her.
He was exquisitely handsome, with skin like jade and long, dark hair spread over the silk pillows. He was clearly not Mo Chen, but he was certainly a stunning specimen of a male character.
A wave of panic hit Qingxue with the force of a tidal wave.
Did I kill someone?!
