The Overlord Flower's Guide to Intercepting a Woman's Wife's Death and the Male Lead&

5:08 AM.

Zhou Bingheng opened his eyes.

Su Xingmian rolled out of her bed and lay across his side, one leg firmly pressing down on his leg, her face buried in his shoulder, her breath spraying onto his collarbone.

What's even worse is her hands.

I don't know when, but she crept under his clothes and pressed her five fingers against the skin on his waist.

Zhou Bingheng's Adam's apple bobbed.

He moved slowly and with restraint. He raised his right hand and moved her fingers outward one by one.

She muttered something, then clenched her fingers even tighter than before.

His hand froze in mid-air for ten seconds.

His breathing became longer again, and his fingers loosened a little.

He slowly pulled himself out of her clutches, tucked the blanket in, and put her bare foot back under the covers.

He sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) putting on his shoes and stretched his left arm.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

Unwrap the gauze and look through the dim light coming in through the window.

A layer of dry, dark brown scab covered the wound, with the edges already curled up, revealing pink new skin underneath.

He rubbed the scab with his fingertip.

This is a healing process that takes at least five to seven days.

Less than 48 hours had passed since the injury.

He rewrapped the gauze, pressed the cuffs tight, put on his clothes, and went into the yard.

The horizon of Helan Mountain was just beginning to turn grayish-white.

While washing his face, Zhou Bingheng's peripheral vision was blocked by the flowerpots at the base of the wall.

The buds have sprouted.

The tender green shoots, half an inch tall, with two cotyledons growing opposite each other, trembled slightly in the morning breeze.

The green color is abnormal.

In October, the temperature in the Helan Mountains drops to near zero in the latter half of the night.

There was no shelter, no insulation, and the coarse terracotta flowerpot didn't even have a plastic film.

A seed can germinate and sprout leaves overnight under these conditions.

He squatted down, stretched out his fingers, and hovered less than a centimeter above the tip of the bud.

The bud tip tilted slightly toward his finger.

His fingers paused for three seconds, didn't touch, and then withdrew.

Stand up and go into the kitchen to start a fire.

There was still some leftover millet porridge in the pot from last night, so I added water and brought it to a boil again, and then steamed two buns in a steamer.

I rummaged through the supplies under the stove and found only one egg.

Does she prefer salty or sweet flavors?

He fried an egg until it was golden brown on both sides, without adding salt.

There was brown sugar in one dish and salt in another.

Let her choose for herself.

He covered the breakfast to keep it warm, then took out his pen, tore off a piece of paper, and began to write, stroke by stroke.

The porridge is in the pot, the steamed buns are on the steamer, and the eggs are on a plate. I don't know if you like it sweet or savory, but the brown sugar and salt are on the side. Just heat it up if it gets cold.

The pen tip paused on the paper for a moment.

He glanced at the gauze on his arm and added four more words at the end: "Wait for me to come back."

She capped the pen and tucked the note under her enamel mug.

I looked back one last time before leaving.

Su Xingmian had taken over the entire kang (heated brick bed), holding both his and her pillows in his arms, wrapped in the quilt like a cocoon, with only a tuft of hair and half of her forehead showing.

With a smirk playing on his lips, he must be dreaming of some delicious treat.

He looked at it for two seconds and then closed the door. He had oiled the hinges himself, so there wasn't a sound.

As I passed the flowerpot, I glanced down at the tender sprout again.

He stepped out of the courtyard, straightened his military cap, and calmly disappeared at the end of the alley.

……

Su Xingmian was awakened by the aroma of millet porridge.

She rolled over, touched the side of her hand, and it was cold.

His seat was empty, with only a thin layer of residual warmth remaining.

She snorted in dissatisfaction and buried her face in his pillow.

The scent of soapberry lingers in the fabric of the pillowcase, clean and refreshing.

She took a drag, then another, and then sat up.

My hair was half frizzy, one eye was swollen, and I had morning swelling due to low body temperature—a chronic problem I've had for the past five years since I transformed.

There was a piece of paper pressed under the enamel mug.

She picked it up and looked at it twice.

The first time I read the contents, I noticed everything was meticulous, just like how he handles official documents.

Read the last four words a second time.

Wait for me to come back.

She folded the note twice and stuffed it under her pillow.

The porridge in the pot was still hot, and the steamed buns were soft and fluffy, releasing steam when broken open.

The fried egg is golden brown, with a dish of brown sugar and a dish of salt on the side.

She looked at this, then at that.

I dipped it in brown sugar and took a bite; it was sweet.

I dipped it in salt and took another bite; it was salty.

Finally, I dipped the remaining half of the egg in brown sugar and salt, and popped it into my mouth in one bite.

The best flavor is a combination of sweet and salty.

I drank two bowls of porridge and ate one and a half steamed buns. The pickled radish with porridge was absolutely delicious.

The food he cooked was ten times better than what she could cook herself.

She was washing dishes when she passed through the yard and squatted down next to the flowerpots.

The buds of the night-blooming cereus have grown a little more, and a fuzzy little spiky ball has emerged between two leaves.

A sweep of demonic energy revealed that three roots had already taken hold, the longest of which touched the bottom of the flowerpot.

It was the heat from the heated kang bed last night that made it so.

And him.

The body heat radiating from thirty centimeters away catalyzed her demonic energy circulation, and this branch of her main body also benefited.

She reached out and touched the tip of the leaf. The bud tip tilted towards her, as affectionately as a puppy rubbing against her palm.

Then she saw the soil on the ground next to her.

A faint fingerprint.

Two finger joints wide, the arc of the press is left by hesitatingly extending and then retracting.

He has come to see it.

I wanted to touch it, but I didn't.

Su Xingmian stared at the fingerprint for a long time.

His attitude toward that sprout was the same as his attitude toward all the inexplicable things about her.

He saw everything.

But he didn't ask, touch, or force her; he simply withdrew his hand, waiting for the day she would be willing to tell him herself.

Su Xingmian smoothed the dirt around the fingerprint with her fingertips, stood up, and patted the dust off her hands.

At 10 a.m., there was a knock on the gate three times.

Su Xingmian opened the door.

A young woman wearing a gray-blue cotton-padded jacket stood outside the door. She had fair skin, elegant and beautiful features, and was of medium height. She was carrying a cloth bag in her hand.

Su Xingmian's demonic power swept around.

This woman had a unique aura; she wasn't as outgoing and dramatic as Zhang Cuihua, nor as silent and profound as Li Xiuying.

There was something heavy and full about her, as if she was pregnant with something.

Su Xingmian focused her attention.

"I am Liang Jin's wife, Wu Qiuli."

She handed over the cloth bag.

"I wasn't feeling well yesterday and couldn't come to visit my sister-in-law, so I'm making up for it today."

"The honey was obtained by Liang Jin from the local herders. He mixes it with water to soothe his throat. It's dry here, and your skin is delicate; honey water is more nourishing than plain water."

Su Xingmian took it, and her feelings for Wu Qiuli soared.

Honey contains trace amounts of pollen essence, making it an excellent supplementary nutrient for flowers.

At the same time, her mind was racing.

Liang Jin, the battalion commander who, along with the old fox, tracks down human traffickers, is the original female lead mentioned by the system, and Song Qingqing's next target.

She opened the door wide.

"Sister Wu, please come in and sit down."