Yan Shuo was lounging on his jade cushion, wearing a loose, comfortable white silk robe. The warm summer breeze gently rustled the green leaves of the peach tree above him. He had just finished a generous bowl of braised pork, and his fifteen-year-old vessel was practically vibrating with contented, well-fed energy.
He closed his eyes, preparing to take a highly strategic, medically recommended nap.
"Husband!"
Yan Shuo didn't open his eyes, but a lazy, fond smile immediately curved his lips.
"Yes, Zhi'er?" he murmured.
Tantai Zhi stepped out of the side pavilion. She wasn't carrying a bowl of food, and she wasn't holding her terrifying crimson sword. Instead, she was carrying a long, incredibly elegant wooden instrument wrapped in shimmering silk.
It was a guqin, an ancient seven-stringed zither.
