Song Yaoyao spent the whole morning in the greenhouse, listening to the man read poetry to her with her eyes closed.
He even used seven languages, his voice as sweet as a zither, tender and affectionate.
Song Yaoyao was not surprised at all that Huo Yunque was so outstanding.
This was the man she had taken a liking to from the first moment she laid eyes on him.
From head to toe, even his hair was pleasing to her eyes.
Comfort made one lazy. This phrase was apt to describe Song Yaoyao.
She did not even remember when she had fallen asleep.
When she woke up again, she was already on her big pink bed.
"Gege?"
She rubbed her forehead and crawled out of bed in a daze.
Huo Yunque's pleasant voice seemed to be still echoing in her mind.
Song Yaoyao could not help but feel annoyed.
"Why did I forget to record it?"
It would have definitely been the best 'artifact' to coax her to sleep every night.
