The Consort of the R

A single, painted hand shot out from the ground, grabbing onto the ankle with a desperate force, as if grasping at a lifeline. A shattering sound echoed, followed by a frantic cry: "Save me... save me...",There is no battlefield, no bloodshed, yet he lies on the cool rattan chairs in the courtyard of his mansion. The small courtyard is serene and peaceful.,The most bustling place at night was no other than the taverns and flower streets. Beautifully dressed courtesans from the red-light districts leaned against the railings, waving their handkerchiefs in the wind, inviting customers with their charm.。