Such a subtly influenced consciousness already exists and has become deeply ingrained, unable to fade away.
Three days later, the morning air began to feel oppressive, which, in early summer, was inevitably a prelude to the arrival of a storm.
Emerging from the bathroom, Qiao Junlie looked refreshed in his black suit, tugging at the golden tie around his neck. The gloomy weather did not disturb his cheerful mood in the least. Thinking that Zi Ruoxi might still be asleep, he tiptoed past the bedroom, ready to leave directly, when a gentle call reached him from behind.
"Qiao Junlie." Like heavenly music drifting in the air.
Qiao Junlie halted his steps, turned around, and quickly walked to her side, carefully observing her still slightly lazy face.
