At the peak of White Cloud Mountain, the red sun reflected off a vast expanse of snow-covered pine trees, casting a warm glow across the landscape.
Shān Wúlán lay quietly on the bed, looking with cold indifference at Shān Wuqūe, who was standing beside her with her head lowered, yawning and looking as though she hadn't yet woken up.
Seeing that Shān Wuqūe's saliva was on the verge of dripping onto her hand, Shān Wúlán knitted her brows, reached out, and grabbed a tuft of her incessantly swaying cowlick.
Chapter 137