The sunset shone obliquely, fragmented by the leaves, and the light and shadows in the mountains were mottled. Looking far, everything was in disarray and hard to distinguish.
"Are you sure it fell here?" Tao Fen asked as he looked around.
Gu Qinglan let out a low "hmm," and said, "After the last polo game, I only went out once on the first day of the month, which was to come here."
She then carefully described to Tao Fen, "It's water-drop shaped, three inches long, two and a half inches wide, made of silk cotton, embroidered with a cloud pattern, with a string of twelve white beads inside, somewhat old in color—" Suddenly noticing Tao Fen turning back to look at her, his eyes fixed, her heart involuntarily panicked, "What is it?"
Tao Fen smiled, "Is it an old item? You remember it so clearly?"
Gu Qinglan felt her face heat up and nodded.
It was indeed an old item, just an old sachet, yet she cried over it here.
In his eyes, would he think she's both spoiled and pretentious?
