"Like…"
Shen Yinning savored the word.
The room was filled with the faint and refreshing fragrance of lotus buds. A few emerald-green lotus leaves in a white porcelain vase set off the buds' delicate pink beauty, like a vivid painting.
"Like…"
She lowered her lashes, her slender pale fingers gripping the brocade quilt tightly.
But she and Lu Ying were not ordinary man and woman.
Their "liking" was insignificant in the face of national vengeance and familial hatred.
If Lu Ying had to choose between the throne and her, he would choose the former.
If she had to choose between family revenge and Lu Ying, she would also choose the former.
The buds in the vase had yet to bloom, but Shen Yinning seemed already to see their withered and decaying forms.
That night.
Xue Mianmian arrived carrying two parcels of pastries to visit Shen Yinning.
