Three days after the overflow incident, Lan Yue had developed a problem with her left hand.
Specifically, she couldn't stop looking at it.
At breakfast, she stared at her palm while chewing. During her afternoon work in Tang Xiaoli's workshop, she paused between ingredients to examine it. At night, she held it up in the moonlight and traced the exact spot where Zhao Lingxi's lips had touched.
She had washed the hand seventeen times.
She could still feel it.
This was clearly some kind of spiritual energy residue from the golden overflow. A leftover tingle. A phantom sensation caused by nerve damage. Very scientific. Very explainable.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Zhao Lingxi had kissed her palm.
Because that had been a thank you. A gesture of gratitude. Like a handshake. Or a bow. Or any number of perfectly normal, completely platonic things people did when someone saved their life.
People kissed other people's hands all the time. It meant nothing.
