Jia Mei was not the kind of beauty to halt the turning of heads in a bustling market square, but for those with discerning eyes, and hearts unclouded by vanity, she was the sort who, once noticed, could not be easily forgotten.
Her hair flowed like a gentle river of dark brown silk, kissed faintly by the hue of chestnut when sunlight filtered through the canopy.
It fell straight and smooth, cascading to the middle of her back, neither radiant like moon-polished jade nor dull as soot, merely brushed with quiet care, untouched by vanity or Jade ornaments.
Often, loose strands would drift across her cheeks, caught like willows in the spring breeze, framing her face, shaped soft and slender, like the leaf of that same tree swaying by the lakeside.
Her features bore the grace of still water.
