"Yes," Dian Lv nodded obediently without saying much.
The nanny beside her also remained silent.
Neither of them showed any pity for Bai Junjun's pitiful background, remaining cool and indifferent.
After securing the hairpin, Bai Junjun finally stood up.
Clad in a moon-white gown, her simple coiffure adorned with just two pearl hairpins, her delicate features flushed with the natural bloom of youth—she needed no rouge to mimic the fresh blush of peach blossoms in March.
Bai Junjun was now nearly 17, a graceful and slender young lady.
Before the chaos of the nation, people only remembered her intelligence, but now it was clear that only such beauty could be called the world's number one.
This beauty was wholly different from Wenren Pingting's dignified grace; she was like the ephemeral night-blooming cereus—mysterious, delicate, ethereal, untouched by worldly concerns.
The servants all seemed a bit stunned by the sight.