The moment the bedroom door closed, the scent of flowers surged in like a tide—soft yet rich, as if invisible hands wrapped Han Ling's entire being. Within this fragrance was not only a relaxing aroma but also the unique chill of the Ghost Orchid—a nourishing essence that penetrated the soul like spring water moisturizing the bones, making one involuntarily close their eyes and sink into a tranquil and peaceful delight.
Han Ling couldn't help but silently complain, "Even though it's something good, Grant, a mere mortal, still can't sleep and ends up with dark circles... Such a waste is truly outrageous."
Yet, this also meant he cared deeply—his love for Ling Zhao was not something everyone possessed.
His gaze scanned the bedroom and quickly found the source—the bouquet of Lisianthus he brought back from Ling Zhao's home, quietly placed by the balcony's glass door. The petals emitted a faint but clear glow under the interlacing moonlight and indoor lighting.
