Lan Xinxue was sixteen years old, as she was like a flower. She should have been in the palace in midsummer. She had a red sleeve and fragrant book and a jade pavilion to enjoy the coolness. Now she is experiencing a broken sweat bead slid down her smooth forehead, climbing up to the tip of her nose, dripping as the jade man wrinkled her nose, falling on her chest, and instantly blending in. After a closer look, the wet brocade shirt was already a little transparent, which should have been rosy, and was slightly opened. You can see that the white and neat teeth protected a delicate tongue. The snow-white neck was slightly raised, revealing a large area of whiteness, which seemed to be cooler.