"Beep..." Suddenly, a car horn sounded on the path, piercingly loud in the quiet flower field, drawing the busy farmers' attention to its source.
Her heart began to race, could it be that man had come again?
A car approached, its gleaming body and top-quality tires unmistakenly identifying it as that familiar silver vehicle. Then, with a "screech," it came to a steady stop at the entrance of the flower garden.
Startled, she stood up and took a step back.
As the car door opened, out stepped a figure even taller and more robust than that man, with slightly curled brown hair, fair skin, a high nose bridge, and a pair of bright brown eyes, complemented by deep eye sockets and long eyelashes—quite charming indeed.
It wasn't that man, but the American man from the photograph.
"Hello, is this Yati's home?" he asked in broken Chinese, with an American accent. He walked into the courtyard, his brown eyes scanning the name of the flower garden as he looked around.
