This was not the first time Piaomiao had noticed Zhao Changhe’s appearance. In truth, he had always been pleasing to the eye, perhaps due to Cui Yuanyang’s lingering memories.0

But at this moment, he looked especially striking. For reasons she could not quite explain, her heartbeat quickened, beyond the control of even the most disciplined cultivation.0

Perhaps it was the first time she had felt such tenderness from him—the same tenderness he showed Cui Yuanyang. Only this time, it wasn’t for Yuanyang. It was for Piaomiao.0

Zhao Changhe had spoken with what seemed like sincerity, and yet she felt a strange sense of emptiness, as if it lacked all foundation. She could not believe he had any real reason to love Piaomiao, that he did not mind her temper, her irrationality, or the burden she brought was already a miracle in itself. As for lust? He was right; that hypothesis seemed even less convincing. Zhao Changhe was barely familiar with her appearance, so what desire could there possibly be?0

Piaomiao could not understand why.0

If anything, it was she who had more reason to fall for him.0

All the hatred she bore him stemmed from those...0