At that moment, she was pondering what to name this incense.
Watching Zhao Jing gently brush the snowflakes from his sleeves, his clear, cold eyes filled with concern as he approached her step by step, Chen Wanqing blurted out, "Let's call it Cold Moon Resting on Snow, alright?"
Zhao Jing paused for a moment before realizing what she meant. "Is the incense ready? The one you made for me?"
Chen Wanqing nodded, grasping his extended, slender, and well-proportioned hand as she slowly stood up. She had been sitting for so long that her bones felt rusted. The moment she stood, her joints let out a sharp CRACK CRACK.
