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The honey was in a semi-solid state, with clear layers of cream yellow and butter yellow. Lun Chuan grasped the black iron lid and gave it a hard twist—
On his tensed arm, the scars from burns sent a slight, ant-bite sting, but what rushed to his face was the unique, fresh sweetness of the honey.
Lun Chuan paused for a moment, then leaned in to take another sniff.
It was an indescribable sweet sensation.
Like plucking a flower from a green grassy field under the light rain of Xiaoyun, and gently sucking on it, tasting a bit of sweetness.
It did not feel cloying at all, but rather seemed to moisturize the mood as well.
He carefully held the jar and without hesitation went to the kitchen, took down a thin and transparent tiny spoon, scooped up an amber-like dollop of honey, and eagerly put it into his mouth.
A breath of wind seemed to pass over the tip of his tongue, that sweet and moist sensation as if sliding from his mouth down to his stomach...
