At some point, the Ghost Market was swept by the wind.
The white banners standing by the distant shops swayed slightly, and the sound of the underground river flowed gently, echoing in the background.
The passersby around them were nothing more than a backdrop.
Cen Dongsheng looked at the woman's profile. He watched her fingers gather the strands of hair fluttering by her ear, and gazed into her dark, lake-like eyes, misty with emotion.
"Where are you planning to take me next?"
An Zhizhen's voice was light, as if the breeze might carry it away at any moment—
But he grasped it tightly in his palm and refused to let go.
"..."
Cen Dongsheng didn't answer.
It wasn't that he didn't know how to respond, but he understood there was no need to speak at this moment.
The man spread his arms and embraced the woman standing before him.
He lowered his head, boldly inhaling her scent, a fragrance as rich as roses; his broad palms gripped her supple curve.
