Two hours later, the sun in the sky was already sinking towards the west—probably the west—like a skilled weaver, slowly and steadily weaving beautiful clouds into the sky.
The steam from the hot springs rose around them as Vishdair lay on the ground, his head resting on Lin Guang's lap, his eyes comfortably half-closed, allowing Lin Guang to do his work.
His pair of black eyes were extremely focused, holding a small file that emitted a faint glow, gently rubbing on the two red horns of the silver-haired girl's head, occasionally changing positions, like a top-tier sculptor.
Finally, as if finishing a masterpiece, he satisfiedly set down his file, running his fingers along the grooves of the horns as if sensing something: "Hmm, this should now be smooth."
Perhaps realizing Lin Guang was done, the little fox lying on the table nearby wobbly got up and walked over, its steps a bit unsteady, as if drunk.
