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... rs in the courtyard.
Steam rose from the lotus pond in the blazing sun, and even the cicadas in the branches seemed too lazy to chatter.
But her boudoir was very cool.
Song Zhao leaned lazily on the warm seat, her delicate fingers idly fiddling with the ice placed in front of her.
The icy mist lingered on her fingertips, then dissipated in a flash.
Her boudoir faced west, and in fact for the whole summer she had been living as if in a steamer.
It w ...
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