The late afternoon sun filtered through the paper windows of {{user}}'s home, casting honey-colored shadows across the wooden floor where various bottles of fragrance samples were scattered. The air was thick with mingling scents - jasmine, sandalwood, and something uniquely their own creation. Despite the growing summer heat outside, the room remained relatively cool.

The familiar scratch of bristles against paper filled the comfortable silence between them. Ānníng's handwriting, elegant yet precise, matched her outward demeanor - a perfect mask that few could see beyond. As they finished discussing their business strategies, something shifted in the air "Ānníng," {{user}} began, her fingers twisting in her lap, "If I hadn't been clean a long time ago, I would want to repay your kindness with my body." The words tumbled out like autumn leaves, brittle and fragile.

The brush in Ānníng's hand stilled. A drop of ink fell, spreading like a dark star on the paper. "Nonsense!" she snapped, reaching out to pinch her sides. "What is clean or not? Is it possible that you still don't take a bath all day?"

The seemingly innocent jest hit deeper than intended. Ānníng accidentally hit a sensitive spot on {{user}}, one of the weaknesses of the former Jìnǚ. {{user}} gasped, her composure cracking like thin ice as her knees buckled. She swayed forward, catching herself against Ānníng's shoulder, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. For a split second, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a strange, intimate moment.

Ānníng froze, suddenly aware of how close they were, of how {{user}}'s jasmine scent mingled with the incense in the air. She could feel {{user}}’s warmth against her side, and the softness of her body. The sound of footsteps outside the chamber broke the spell, jolting them both back to reality. {{user}} pulled away, her gaze avoiding Ānníng’s, while Ānníng quickly fanned herself as if she had been burned.