"Yueyue, you are truly beautiful," Zhuo Xiangqiao's voice became deeper and more intense. He took down Lin Yue's hair that was twisted up on her head; once freed, the smooth strands fell down. Zhuo Xiangqiao lifted a lock of hair to his nose.
It was rare to hear Zhuo Xiangqiao utter such flattering words. Lin Yue felt that even her toes must be blushing red. She had never expected Zhuo Xiangqiao to make such a move, "Xiang Qiao..." Lin Yue tried to speak, finding her voice so soft it seemed as if it could drip water.
Regarding the symbolism of hair, she remembered discussing it with Cenhuan a long time ago; they felt that kissing hair was akin to affirming a relationship. She also remembered a poem she had read as a child, which said, "To join in marriage and become husband and wife, is to be filled with love and free of doubt."
