"Come here." Suppressing the wistfulness in his heart, Du Youqian beckoned with a smile.
Li Fei obediently walked over to Du Youqian's seat and knelt on one knee.
Du Youqian reached out and naturally stroked her long hair, which was already streaked with hints of white.
Li Fei tilted her head slightly, like a young girl enjoying an affectionate gesture from an older brother, savoring the touch of that gentle, warm hand.
No one present found this scene strange. It was just that, in years past, the one making the gesture had a different face, and the one whose head was being patted had been much younger, not possessing the mature grace she had now.
To the onlookers, it was as if they were watching two people, long since changed, reenact the same scene from the past.
But for those involved—especially for Li Fei—what else had she dreamed of in the dead of night for the past century, if not this small bit of warmth?
