The pattering sound of the rain was like the quiet music of instruments in harmony; plump hands dredged up from within the vapour, holding the wrung out towel loosely between fingers, stretching forward into the bedding to wipe Song Shijiu’s back clean from top to bottom. Her back was both glossy and tender, having alluring dips and valleys, shoulder blades protruding slightly, but not too much, as if a dove restraining its wings. A Yin gazed at the red mark, smaller than a grain of rice, on the back of her neck; the bright moonlight smudged it a bit larger, and her absent-minded gaze turned it into the size of a fingernail. It stilled on the skin of the occupied young lady, as if an intruder entirely lacking decorum, and traced over the outline Li Shiyi’s words had drawn, like an uneducated seductress. The beautiful state of the young lady; the envy and shame in her heart had both long been peeled away, and so she could calmly and meaninglessly use Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu to make jok...