A few plum petals fell on the table.
Du Yunluo lowered her eyes. The bright red petals were right by her hand, more vivid than the crimson at her fingertips.
She suddenly thought of the sixteen or seventeen-year-old Mu Lianhui.
Mu Lianhui's appearance might not be breathtakingly beautiful, but perhaps due to three years of listening to Buddhist teachings on Putuo Mountain, she carried a more serene and gentle aura, like a blue lotus before the Buddha, or like cold plum blossoms on a branch.
Every frown, every smile, every gesture naturally conveyed the poise of a noblewoman of the Royal Family.
The Imperial Consort had meticulously cared for this young lady for three years. She did not fall short when compared even with Princess Hui or Princess An Ran, let alone with other princesses.
When Mu Lianhui returned to the Capital at sixteen or seventeen, it was the most radiant time of her life.
