Wu Sheng's gift was, to Su Li's surprise, a comb.
The comb, with its faint, woody fragrance, lay quietly in a wooden box, its texture smooth and warm.
A few words were faintly engraved on the comb: "Happy Birthday, Su Li."
"Why did you think to give me a comb?"
Su Li was genuinely surprised.
"I just thought and thought about it, and this is what I came up with. Do you like it?" Seeing the light in Su Li's eyes, Wu Sheng breathed a sigh of relief.
"I love it."
The comb Su Li was currently using was just an ordinary one that created static. She often thought about getting a new one when she brushed her hair, but she always forgot. To think that Wu Sheng would be the one to give her a new one in the end.
"As long as you like it." Wu Sheng looked at Su Li's hair. It was dark, shiny, and smooth—very pleasant to the touch.
