The next morning arrived, the sky still not fully bright.
Yet Shen Hua had not slept all night, energetically pacing back and forth, choosing skirts.
"Is this one too plain?"
She changed into another one: "How about this cardamom purple?"
"Miss Shen looks beautiful in anything."
Shen Hua, however, was picky: "No, I always feel it's too old-fashioned."
Ningzhu: "How about the lake blue one?"
Shen Hua: "Not stable enough."
After finally putting on a satisfactory skirt, she sat in front of the copper mirror, meticulously applying makeup, humming a tuneless little ditty. She showed no signs of her tearful, breathless crying in Yicui's arms the day before.
