Chen Wanqing finally rose, turning her back to Jing to get dressed at the side of the canopy bed.
Her hands moved quickly, but a closer look revealed a hint of panic. She blinked a few times, finally managing to calm her racing heart.
'Are young men really this impulsive?'
'And especially so in the morning?'
Later that morning, Zhao Jing sat in the sunlight with an oilcloth draped over his chest, waiting for Chen Wanqing to shave his face.
He was an exceptionally neat and tidy young man. But he was so brimming with youthful vitality that the stubble on his chin grew back as relentlessly as freshly cut chives, one crop after another.
Previously, Chen Wanqing had rarely noticed such things. Zhao Jing always appeared before her looking his absolute best, making her wonder if he ever had an unkempt moment in his life.
That question remained an unsolved mystery, but Chen Wanqing had no time to dwell on it now.
