Looking at the silhouette not far away, Quan Jingwu's lips slightly lifted.
He lightened his steps, even his breathing was cautious.
Just a few short steps, but it felt as if he'd crossed centuries.
Jian Qing was bent over, trimming the thorns on the flower stems. When she heard movement behind her, she assumed it was the usual customers coming by. The clerk had already chased them away, so she didn't pay much attention.
But something about the sound of those footsteps felt wrong.
She frowned, about to turn around after putting down the scissors, when a man's arm reached around her from behind, pulling her into a full embrace.
The cold aroma, the familiar arms holding her. Without even turning her head, she could clearly picture that enchanting face in her mind.
Her eyes momentarily faltered, the hand that had been holding the flower stems stiffened in mid-air, not daring to move.
