"I'm here."
Long Chen walked toward Zhao Churan's room.
The soft light tenderly diffused through the space.
Zhao Churan gently pulled Long Chen's hand and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Long Chen looked at Zhao Churan. She was serene and delicate, and every frown and smile of hers was captivating.
"Would you like a drink?"
Zhao Churan pointed to a high-footed glass nearby.
"I could have a little."
Long Chen said with a smile.
"I'll pour."
Zhao Churan stood up and picked up the glass.
...
This night, there were no wild storms, just endless tenderness.
At dawn, as soon as Long Chen came downstairs, he saw Han Min had already prepared breakfast.
Turning her head and seeing Long Chen, Han Min immediately greeted him with boundless enthusiasm, "Come and have breakfast."
"Not hungry."
Long Chen left directly.
He couldn't stomach anything made by Han Min.
Behind him, Han Min's brow was tightly knitted; she hadn't expected Long Chen to be so hard to please.
