Jing Qiao realized that her long-time refusal to reconcile with him wasn't just making things difficult for him; to some extent, it was even more a matter of not making peace with herself.
Now, she had reconciled not only with him but also with herself.
It didn't feel bad at all.
In fact, it was a rare and lazy feeling, just like before—when everything had yet to happen—where she would simply stay in Song Boyuan's study, curled up on the soft sofa beside his desk.
She sipped her homemade milk tea occasionally.
While reading a book, occasionally, from beside her, a man's cold, metallic-sounding voice would cut through, briefly issuing instructions during a video conference.
Lazily flipping through the book in her hands, Jing Qiao reminisced about the old days.
Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.
It had been a long time since she had slept so deeply, so well.
