Summer rainstorms tend to be brief.
When Zheng Qing left the study room and came outside, the sky had already cleared. The orange sun hid behind thin clouds, resembling a fully ripened orange.
The air was pervaded with a fresh scent after the rain, mixed with the gradually steaming atmosphere, slightly easing the unease in his chest.
"Slow down," the witch whispered from behind: "The path is slippery after the rain."
Zheng Qing turned around, the confusion in his eyes somewhat dissipated.
It was at this moment that Zheng Qing realized that he had been gripping Jiang Yu's wrist the whole time.
"Sor...Sorry!" The warlock's hand withdrew as if stung by a wasp, his face turning quickly red as he stuttered an explanation: "Just now, I was... I was just in a rush... It wasn't on purpose."
