After Nuannuan fell asleep, Lu Mojing picked up a medical book to read. He was earnest and focused, making notes on the original English text.
When Qian Wei awoke, she tilted her head and saw him illuminated by the fading evening glow, like the most devout Saint, immersed in his book.
"You're awake..." Without turning his head, he already knew she was awake, "In the cup on your left, there's apple juice, freshly squeezed ten minutes ago."
Qian Wei smiled warmly—waking up in the chilling winter, yet covered with a warm silk quilt and beside her, a cup of fresh and freshly squeezed apple juice.
Life, it turns out, is so beautiful and comfortable.
Qian Wei didn't speak; she just picked up the apple juice, sipped it slowly until finished, then continued lying on the chaise lounge, idly rocking it, watching the sunset on the horizon.
Lu Mojing continued reading his book, the two of them, as if in two separate worlds, yet seemingly together in the same one.
A week passed.
