It's a beautiful chapter in the East's fantasy world.

In the palace of the night, a cold-haired swordsman stood next to the seemingly weak fairy, and the swordman's ink was covered in his ink robe, and the fairy velvet skirt was on the ground, and the two were supposed to be teachers, but she pulled close in the shadow of candles, and she wrapped his collars, she pulled her fingers to the chest, he breathed, he bowed his head, and he fell down on her tweaked lips, and the light was low, and the air was on the outside of the house, and the temperature was rising, and the fairy suddenly turned his hands on his waist, and the eyes were strangling, and the sword's throat moved, and her back was turned out of control, and the candles shattered, and the two bodies were shroubleding on the wind of the sculin.