Zhao Rong had no idea Qing Jun had imagined so much.
If he had known, even with his thick skin, he might have blushed . . .
Lingfei, clutching Zhao Rong's arm and leaning against him, stared unwaveringly at the teacup on the table and whispered softly, "I really like it."
Zhao Rong was startled, looked down at her. "What?"
Lingfei looked up at him, her tone serious. "That 'Song of Devotion', I really like it."
Zhao Rong replied softly, "If you like it, I'll write it for you again."
Lingfei frowned slightly, quickly shaking her head. "No need, no need, one is enough; don't write anymore. Studies are more important . . ."
Then something occurred to her, her eyes squinting happily. "Rong'er, the short phrases you wrote for me every day are just fine. They are naturally excellent, and moreover . . . you don't need to write them anymore in future."
Zhao Rong felt a surge of joy, obviously aware of the underlying meaning in her final words.
