Beijing in the spring, the afternoon sun warm and bright.
Mother Leng's grave was at this moment bathing in a swathe of sunlight, and Leng Zimo's figure was also entirely wrapped in a layer of sunlight.
Five years had passed, and Luo Xiaoqian had never stopped paying attention to him, even attending some of Emperor View's events just for a chance to see him, yet this was the first time she was so close to him.
Compared to five years ago, he seemed to have lost some weight, but his face bore not a single trace of the passage of time.
She was only a few steps away from him, and she could clearly see his face, his intelligent wide forehead, thick eyebrows with beautiful arches, long eyelashes tinged golden-brown by the sun, and sensual thin lips beneath a straight nose.
Those lips, she had once kissed with such passion, and they had also kissed her with scorching heat, saying to her the most moving and sincere sweet nothings in the world.
