Shang Yu uncrossed his long legs, leaned forward to tap off some ash, and looked down at Li Qiao through his eyelashes, "Come here."
Li Qiao didn't hesitate, threw aside the cushion, and moved to sit beside him.
The air was tinged with the scent of tobacco, intertwining with the fresh agarwood fragrance emanating from him, quietly tempting her rationality.
At that moment, the man tested the temperature of the teacup on the table with the back of his hand, then picked it up and handed it to her, "Sobriety tea, drink it and go to sleep."
The tone was indisputable.
Li Qiao accepted the teacup, the temperature was just right, comfortably warm in her palms.
She took a small sip, detecting the sweet taste of honey.
She hadn't drunk much tonight, just one cup of Remy Martin—it wouldn't knock her out.
But right now, her thoughts felt a bit scattered. The gloom that persisted all night seemed to be clearing up with this cup of sobriety tea.
