When Yang Lingyun finally stirred awake, the clock on his nightstand read 9 AM. He blinked, confused and surprised—he was never one to sleep this late. Usually, he woke up before dawn due to his restlessness. He was feeling refreshed as if the exhaustion of weeks had been lifted in a single night.
But something was weird.
A firm warmth pressed gently against his back, and the room was filled with a soft floral fragrance that sent his heart pounding. The scent was unmistakable.
Slowly, he turned over, careful not to startle whatever—or whoever—was behind him. His breath caught in his throat when he found himself face to face with the serene, sleeping figure.
"Lihua?" he whispered, astonished. Her breathing was soft and even, and her long hair fanned out across the pillow like a silken halo. She was so close that he could see the delicate curve of her eyelashes and the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
His eyes involuntarily trailed downward, and then he froze.
