In the distance, the woman wore a black gauze outer robe, its surface embroidered with great peonies in dark golden thread. As she walked slowly, those flowers of gold thread flickered in and out of sight upon the gauze, seeming to breathe, bloom, wither, and bloom anew as though alive.
She was tall and voluptuous. Her curves were not overly exaggerated, yet they filled those splendid robes to perfection.
Neither slender nor bloated, every inch of her contours exuded the full, rounded richness unique to a mature woman.
Like a honey peach ripened to perfection yet still hanging from its branch—merely looking at it was enough to imagine its sweet juice.
And once one's gaze traveled upward, it could no longer move away.
She had long hair as black as ink. It was not arranged in a high coiffure, merely loosely pinned behind her head with a jade hairpin, while the rest cascaded over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall.
A few loose strands hung languidly by her temples, making that face appear all the more fair and creamy.
Her complexion was not a sickly pallor, but rather the warm white of jade touched by a faint flush of blood. Amid the hall full of flourishing flowers, she seemed almost to glow.
Her brows and eyes were the deadliest part of her entire face.
She had a pair of phoenix eyes, their corners slightly raised, and at the corner of one eye rested an exceedingly tiny vermilion beauty mark, as if someone had lightly touched it with a needle-tip dipped in rouge.
Her lashes were long. When she lowered her eyes, they cast a small fan-shaped shadow beneath them; when she raised them, those eyes were like two bottomless cold pools.
She gazed over quietly, and deep