Zhao Rong opened the love letter placed foremost on the table.
It was "Shang Xie".
In a sense, this was the first love letter he sent to Zhao Lingfei.
Zhao Rong's fingers unfolded the folded paper raft.
He folded it back again and placed it on the table.
Zhao Rong looked up, "Why not use it?"
Mountain-climbing Grade, Falling Flower Grade State with Self, Falling Flower Grade State of No Self, Nanshan Grade State with Self, Nanshan Grade State of No Self... This is the sequence of ascending quality of graded poems.
And this "Shang Xie" was still of the Falling Flower Grade, with spiritual energy nearly intact.
Zhao Lingfei averted her gaze.
"I don't want to use it." She found an excuse.
Zhao Rong watched her for a while, then lowered his head again, reopening the paper raft with "Shang Xie" written on it, spreading it on the table.
The spiritual energy of this rare Falling Flower Grade poem began to fill the room.
"You… be careful."
