Qinglian Inn, the rooftop of a room in the inner courtyard.
Under the moonlight.
"Do you like it?"
Zhao Rong looked down at Zhao Qian'er, his voice warm and mellow.
The little girl, once puffed up with anger, now lowered her small head, her lips slightly parted, gazing in a daze at the purple-clothed flower cradled in her palm.
Her eyes curved downwards, her eyelashes fluttering lightly, and she reached out a finger to gently caress the delicate petals, taking care to protect them.
At this moment, upon hearing Zhao Rong's chuckling inquiry, Zhao Qian'er nodded happily, "Mmm, I like it."
Her soft voice paused briefly, then she quickly lifted her head to glance at his bright eyes, and just as quickly lowered her small head again, her voice faint, almost inaudible, as she repeated the phrase.
"Very… very much."
Zhao Rong nodded in relief, smiling, "That's good."
The gift from you, I... I like them all, very much indeed.
