Zhao Rong loved listening to stories.
Because life was full of countless faces and variations, it was interesting.
At that moment, he was listening intently, his face serious, as the exquisitely beautiful woman lying in the bed began to speak with an increasingly deep gaze.
"That year, before the Great Li nation was founded, there was a severe drought in several northern counties, lands laid bare for thousands of miles, granaries and wells empty. My parents took me, only three at the time, and fled the famine. Along the road, one could see endless streams of starving refugees, their faces as withered as dead wood."
Su Qingdai tilted her head slightly, the corners of her eyes narrowing as if they glided over scenes from the past.
