After a moment of silence.
Luo Qingzhou picked up the last stick of candied hawthorn from the windowsill and walked out of the house.
It was just a stick of candied hawthorn. He could buy it for Xiao Die next time.
He walked under the pear tree and handed the candied hawthorn in his hand to the cold girl.
"Hmph!"
The girl snorted coldly and turned her face to look elsewhere.
The sword was still in her arms. Her sharp chin was slightly raised, and she stared unblinkingly elsewhere. Her pretty face was still as cold as ice.
She was like an exquisite ice sculpture.
A breeze blew past, lifting a strand of the girl's hair and stirring up her fragrance.
It was faint and sweet.
It was very unique.
Luo Qingzhou did not dare to continue staring. He retracted his gaze and was about to leave with the candied hawthorn when a familiar coldness suddenly enveloped his entire body again.