After mid-July, the scorching sun was like a furnace, as if the entire land had transformed into a molten forge.
In the newly fragrant wine district, the alleyways of Dongluo Pass might no longer buzz with the bustle of the old days, but the playhouse was still abuzz with voices and activity, teeming with excitement.
Arched gateways, pavilions, cloisters, reflective walls, and the stage itself were all ornately carved, their majestic presence captivating and full of whimsy.
At the very center of the main archway, there was a beautifully elegant square table, on which were arranged rare fruits, pastries, and seeds along with tea.
Zhao Qingmei, dressed in a snow-white robe, sat at the center, holding a handful of seeds, her beautiful eyes fixed on the stage below.
Beside her were Duanmu Xinghua, Yu Qiurong, Mu Xiaoyun, Tan Yun, and others.