Chapter 395
"Your forehead is very beautiful, like a peony."
"Don't look like a peony. Peonies are so tacky. How about a peony?"
"Okay~"
He also felt that peonies were more elegant than peonies. While peonies were famous, they were indeed a bit too gaudy. It was just that these beautiful flowers had to have one be the king of flowers and the other be the minister of flowers. Humans were so boring, even flowers had to be ranked according to their official rank.
Another point is that peony symbolizes separation, and it also has a name: "Jiang Li". It always feels a bit ominous.
I think the first time he gave her flowers was the candy-colored peonies. He saw her staring at the window for a long time, so she must have liked the flowers and didn't think of anything else. Later, she was gone. One day, when she passed by the flower shop again, she saw the pink candy-colored peonies and felt very sad.
He always lay on his back, and when he opened his eyes, she looked at him face to face like a little white cat, with a pair of bright big eyes that were so adorable.
She loved it that way, her elbows resting on him, her head resting on her hands, looking at him like that, her little paws tracing the contours of his face. She'd touch him for a while, then kiss him, then rub him a few times, then kiss him again, then rub him again, over and over again. Her hands weren't idle either, stroking his hair and rubbing his ears.
He liked it at first, but then he became uneasy. He was only in his early forties, but he was aging too fast, and his temperament and style were no longer as good as before.
He knew she loved him now. With affection, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. But once that affection faded, she was very likely to do the same. She was so simple-minded, and to jump into this fire pit, she must have a strong belief in her country. Once the affection was gone, even the best person would seem repulsive. And what would she think of him then? Old, ugly, vile, and most importantly, a traitor and a traitor to his country. That was right, she had come to kill him.
Wang Jiazhi thought he was really handsome, with a small, delicate face—a man with a face smaller than hers. Her eyes, in particular, were so bright and deep, like the moon reflected in a lake in late autumn. She loved them. His lips were beautifully thin and soft to kiss. His nose was a little flat, but a taller one wouldn't have been so attractive. She thought everything about him was just right. She even felt that if he were taller, he wouldn't be perfect.
The more I look at them, the more I can’t stand Kuang Yumin’s donkey face and Lao Wu’s swollen pig liver face.
He loved her full forehead, which truly resembled a peony bud about to bloom, and her long eyelashes, which fluttered like moth antennae. Even at the height of passion, with her eyes closed, her face rosy and her breath fragrant with orchids, she remained as pure, beautiful, and aloof. This look of hers intoxicated him even more than her responses to his requests.
He always liked to watch her quietly when she was asleep. She was really beautiful and attractive. Once, the jasmine flowers in the house bloomed, and he made a small flower ball and put it on her head while she was asleep.
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