When twilight completely swallowed the courtyard walls, the atmosphere under the grape trellis grew so stifling it could have been wrung out like a wet cloth.
Zhao Shuzhuo’s earlobes were burning red, and Yang Xiaohua’s fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the hem of her skirt, while Shen Chunhua was still enthusiastically gesturing about how many strings of red silk should be hung for the wedding.
Hé Yǔshuǐ stood on tiptoe to reach for the cured meat hanging from the kitchen beam. Catching sight of the awkwardness in the courtyard, she immediately put down the kitchen knife, bits of chopped scallion still clinging to her apron.
Chapter 700