Under A Luo’s frankness, A Yin became timid, her gaze falling and about to go out. Yet A Luo pulled at her wrist, once more dragging her back into her embrace, her orchid-graceful neck lowered, a kiss pressing against her light and wild chin. In the neatly constructed garden, there wasn’t even a single cup lantern, the clusters of grass becoming a deep green, occasionally wrapping around early autumn fallen leaves. Yet the “wa-ya-ya” calls shattered this tranquility, causing the fallen leaves to curl their bodies up and shiver. Tu Laoyao gazed at the captured little ghost, copper bell eyes and an ox’s nose, a large mouth which stretched to its ears, a pointed hat on its head, its body wrapped in a bright red changpao. “How does it look this ugly, eh?” he muttered to himself in a quiet voice. Just then, the Xu Hao had walked quietly on tiptoe, winding out from the garden, and had just been about to climb the foot of the wall and enter A Luo’s room, yet it had just shifted a step when Li