Zhou Luchen returned late that night.
After her shower, Shen Jing discovered the hairdryer she'd set out was broken. Her hair still damp, she was on the balcony watering flowers with a spray bottle.
She already knew Zhou Luchen was returning; she had clearly seen his car pull into the courtyard from the balcony.
As soon as Zhou Luchen stepped into the room, he leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching Shen Jing tend to her flowers.
Her damp hair was loosely coiled with a rose hairpin, a few tendrils at her temples still glistening with drops of water. As she bent to clear away dead leaves, the small, blood-red rose hairpin in her hair caught his eye, strikingly vivid.
"I thought Young Master Zhou would be staying at a hotel," she said.
"The hygiene standards aren't up to par," Zhou Luchen replied.
A bright smile spread across Shen Jing's face. "Are you very particular about cleanliness?" she asked.
An unfamiliar term.
