This night seemed particularly peaceful, but only on the surface.
The next morning, when Shi Nuan woke up, Song Yansheng was no longer in bed.
A fleeting sense of loss passed by, and just as she was about to go downstairs, the balcony curtains fluttered in the wind, revealing a silhouette standing there.
With just a brief glance, she knew it was Song Yansheng.
Recalling the momentary tenderness of last night, she still felt something in her heart.
Smoothing her pajamas, she stepped toward the balcony, reaching out to part the curtains, her gaze landing on Song Yansheng.
He stood there with his back to her, still in his robe and slippers, holding a cigarette between his fingers, smoking leisurely.
The white smoke curled around his long, elegant fingers, and she noticed how good his smoking gesture looked.
Shi Nuan paused her fingers at the curtain, not wanting to disturb his moment of peace, she lowered her eyes, intending to leave.
