"Calm down. Although His Grace doesn't have the time to pose for you, we've provided a photograph. You can paint just as well from it."
Mr. Yun knew himself that Fu Xing would not cooperate, and without seeking further fault, he asked, "Where is the photograph?"
"Right here."
With solemnity, the butler placed a candid photograph before Mr. Yun. Poor old man, already over three-hundred-years-old and rotting away, still blushed upon seeing the photograph and nearly suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and died on the spot.
The person in the photograph was captured in profile, their shirt half undone, with slender fingers resting on the buttons. The left side of the shirt had already slipped off, revealing skin smooth and radiant as jade, beautiful muscle contours accentuated by the ambiguous lighting, making it all the more mysterious, noble, and elegant.
Even through the photograph, one could feel the intense sexual tension and potent hormonal presence.
