Yixiang's cheeks flushed even deeper: "I made it myself, so naturally it's new."
"May I go up and sit for a while?"
Yixiang hesitated for three seconds, then gently nodded: "Sure!"
Lin Xiaosu left the ancient yard, where every brick and tile was a relic, and hesitantly stepped onto the bamboo house, careful not to damage the flooring.
Holding the teacup from which he had just drunk.
Yixiang, carrying the teapot, followed him upstairs. Arriving at the edge of the floor, she looked around, the blush on her face never fading.
The bamboo house was very elegant.
New wood for floorboards, bamboo slices for railings.
The plain window screens were drawn up at the moment, offering views from the sitting area in the bamboo house of the fog-shrouded distant mountains, the river below the village, and the beautiful tea plantations.
A gentle breeze carried scents of tea, flowers, an inexplicable aroma from the yard, and a faint body fragrance.
