The following day.
Wen Sheng was awakened by a persistently moist and gentle sensation.
She groggily opened her eyes, and Fu Yanlin's handsome face was close at hand. The sunlight that sneaked in through the gap in the curtains was sprinkled over his shoulders, as if it draped him with a faint halo of gold, making him look like a deity who had descended to the mortal world. His golden face was clearly accentuated in the morning light.
Looking at his face, Wen Sheng felt that even the morning light behind him had dimmed.
He had already cleaned up, and his stubble was neatly shaved, leaving his cheeks smelling mildly minty from the aftershave. This refreshing fragrance was vibrant.
Fu Yanlin indulgently smiled down at Wen Sheng, just like how the sunbeams spill through every crack in the camphor tree on a spring afternoon, making the white-shirted youth passing beneath the tree seem more delightful with only a fleeting glance.
