But as she was looking all around, Bei Mingyuan had already strode right in front of her.
He was so close that she had to crane her neck back, almost to the breaking point, just to see his face.
"What for?" she asked mechanically.
"To pick a little flower." Bei Mingyuan's words seemed to come out of nowhere as he raised his hand and crooked his index finger.
From not far away, a white gardenia flew into his hand.
The flower had been lying pitifully in the rubble and dust, perhaps from a broken pot, or maybe brought by a worker who had then carelessly tossed it aside. Having been uprooted and deprived of soil and water for too long, its petals had withered and yellowed, resembling a crumpled ball of paper that no one had ever noticed.
