The faint scent of roses lingered around the two of them, carving a sliver of ambiguous emotions amidst the noisy market.
Fu Jinghen's gaze lowered onto her slightly parted lips, his Adam's apple moved, and his hand around Wen Qiao's shoulder tightened before finally letting go.
He raised his hand to remove the grain of rice from the corner of her mouth, "If you want them, I can figure something out."
The man's voice was slightly husky, but with the market's bustle as cover, it wasn't very noticeable.
Wen Qiao's eyes lit up, and she nodded, "Sure."
Whether the flowers were important or not was beside the point; she mainly wanted to see what kind of method Fu Jinghen could come up with.
The man led her through the market, twisting and turning, and stopped at a certain spot after about three or four minutes.
Wen Qiao looked around at the crowd that had gathered, poking her head out from behind Fu Jinghen to take a look.
