62. Borrow a knife to cut the grass and remove the roots

Dawn was breaking.

An Chenyu had been sitting in the courtyard tea pavilion since early morning, the breeze lifting her long skirt like swaying reeds, lightly covering and tracing the contour of her long legs with wonder, her embroidered shoes gently swaying, much like the lazy tail of a cat.

She was holding a book, reading intently.

Actually, she hardly ever read these days.

Too much to do—who had the time?

She should have been resting on the couch because she was seriously sleep-deprived.

But with so much to do, and so much uncertainty, whether success depended on her at all, how could she possibly sleep?

So, she had gotten up early, woken up Ling, and had her brew a pot of tea, then she took a book from her bedside to the tea pavilion to read.

The book was a collection of poems talking about romantic scenery, the joys and sorrows of parting and reunion, the lamenting of spring and sorrow of autumn.