Song Ci had long heard that the displaced Princess Chongyang was as beautiful as a fairy, and was curious about what kind of person she was.
Now, as the bridal veil was lifted, her true appearance was revealed to all the guests. Some were amazed, while others whispered in pity.
Her beauty was indeed remarkable, but it was only beauty that remained.
Song Ci sighed deeply; the delicate features of Princess Chongyang were secondary. It was her aura that was unforgettable, so subdued yet so serene.
In a room full of people, she stood gracefully, quietly at ease, as if ready to drift away with the wind at any moment.
She lacked vitality, merely existing in simplicity, akin to an elderly person peacefully awaiting the end.
Song Ci thought so, overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling, and a sigh escaped from his lips.
Sometimes, losing a country and dying immediately is better than enduring this present embarrassment, surviving only brings endless pain.
