He lowered his head just as Wen Qiao also lifted hers to look at him; her eyes, freshly soaked with tears, were brimming with water and full of grievances toward Fu Jinghen.
The face of the person in his arms was bloodless and pale, except for her reddened eye sockets and the tip of her nose. Wisps of hair clung to her cheeks, giving her a delicate and fragile beauty.
Fu Jinghen tenderly kissed her eyes, and Wen Qiao subconsciously closed them. Her eyelashes trembled, brushing against his lips, and brought with them a ticklish sensation.
Her eyelashes still bore tear drops, which Fu Jinghen tasted in his mouth, finding them bitterly.
"Because of these two dreams that absolutely couldn't have happened, you cried like this?"
"How could they not happen," Wen Qiao said. "They just happened in my dream."
