The sound of footsteps approached.
Tang Song instinctively spread his arms wide.
In the next second, a body carrying a scent, mixed with a chill, heavily collided into his embrace.
He caught a faint whiff of fragrance from her hair, and with each breath, it seemed as if the whole world slowed down.
"I calculated it perfectly," Liu Qingning, with her face buried in his chest, spoke in a muffled yet prideful voice, "as you come running down from upstairs, it will be exactly midnight."
Tang Song looked down, observing her nose, reddened from the cold, and gently kissed the top of her icy hair.
His voice, tender enough to melt the entire winter night:
"Happy birthday, Qingning."
"Thank you, Song."
She rose on her tiptoes, leaving a cool yet exceedingly gentle kiss on his cheek.
Then she just quietly gazed at him, her eyes filled with an inextricable tenderness and smile.
