Walking along the street, Qiu Yan blushed, her cheeks a delicate crimson, fluttering with nerves and joy.
From the corner of her eye, Mo Jian's hand found hers—warm and sure, a quiet fuse lighting her insides.
Her stomach blossomed with butterflies, each beat a soft promise, each glance a lyric, turning the evening glow into a tender vow.
She had expected Mo Jian to be like every Young Master on the continent—stoic, aloof, and not romantic at all. But she was mistaken.
Going shopping on their first date was something she never expected.
"Let's check this out," Mo Jian said in a low voice as he pulled into a cloth store.
Inside the store, a beautiful middle-aged woman walked toward them.
"Welcome, esteemed customers. How may I serve you?" she asked, speaking with practiced courtesy.
Qiu Yan did not speak; she stood quietly beside Mo Jian.
"Show me your best fabric and your best design," he said casually.
