Zhou Luchen arrived at Yunding in the middle of the night. He turned on the light and found Shen Jing sitting on the carpet, peeling an orange.
Her face bore delicate makeup, but she still looked tipsy, probably not even clear on what she was doing.
She was still wearing the white silk slip dress from the banquet. When she looked up in surprise, the wool blanket on her shoulders slipped slightly.
She peeled the orange slowly, lifting her head to watch her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window.
The man stood behind her, silhouetted against the light. The collar of his black shirt was loose and open; further down, a platinum button strained against his chest, making his pectoral muscles bulge.
Shen Jing reached out to touch the reflection of Zhou Luchen in the glass window and froze.
An illusion.
He couldn't possibly appear. How much must she yearn for him to see his face in the glass?
