First, then, love.

He Zheng walked through the 300-square-meter greenhouse, his gaze sweeping around like a radar.

In actual combat, special police snipers can accurately lock onto targets from hundreds of meters away.

Now, this incredible focus and keen eye are all being used on embroidery.

He stopped in front of a rose bush that was about half his height.

This flower grows at the highest point, absorbing the most sunlight. The bud is as big as a fist, with a deep red color and a blackish-red velvety texture at the edges.

He Zheng stretched out his left hand and pinched the thorny branch with his index finger and thumb.

The sharp rose thorns pierced his palm, but he didn't even flinch.

He held pruning shears in his right hand.

"Click."

With a crisp sound, the branch was cut at a 45-degree angle and severed.

The first one.

He held the flower and continued walking.

Sharp eyes and precise movements.

He wouldn't even glance at a flower if the bud wasn't big enough, the color wasn't right, or the petals were even slightly damaged.

They only select the most vigorous and vibrant "stubborn" plants.

"Click."

"Click."

Inside the greenhouse, the crisp sound of scissors cutting plant branches could be heard continuously.

He Zheng was clutching more and more flowers in his left hand.

A large bunch of thorny green branches were huddled together, the sharp tips of which scratched the calloused skin on the back of his hand, drawing out a few tiny beads of blood.

He didn't care, casually wiped it off on his trouser leg, and continued searching.

Old Zhao followed behind, watching the way this living devil was doing embroidery, and felt sorry for him.

"Hey Captain He, you're always picking the very top 'flowers'! This plant only had one really good bloom, and you've plucked them all. I'm going to have a hard time explaining this to the market tomorrow..."

Old Zhao muttered to himself.

He Zheng stopped what he was doing, turned his head and glanced at him, his dark eyes deep and domineering.

"How much? Double the price, I'll cover it."

Old Zhao immediately shut up, beaming with joy, "Alright! Cut as much as you like! Is that enough? There's another booth over there!"

Twenty minutes later.

He Zheng walked out of the flower bushes.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my black windbreaker was covered in mud and pollen.

He held a large bundle of freshly cut, top-quality red roses in each of his left and right hands.

The flower buds were all cut from the same mold, the same size, bright red, and full of vitality.

He walked to the worktable at the entrance of the greenhouse and placed the flowers down heavily.

"Thump."

A pile of thorny roses looked like a burning fire.

"Ninety-nine flowers." He Zheng threw down the scissors and uttered four words.

He had just silently counted them in his mind; not one more, not one less.

Old Li said that buying flowers should have a symbolic meaning. Ninety-nine flowers symbolize longevity, which is tacky, but it works.

Old Zhao walked over, looked at the pile of top-quality goods, and gave a thumbs up.

"Captain He has a good eye; all the best flowers in this greenhouse are here. Your wife will be very happy to receive them."

Old Zhao started rummaging under the worktable.

"Captain He, wait a minute, let me find some nice paper to wrap it up for you."

After searching for a while, Old Zhao straightened up awkwardly.

"Um... Captain He, I do wholesale. I usually just pack them in big plastic buckets. I don't have those pink or blue wrapping papers and ribbons."

He Zheng frowned. "How are we supposed to take it? It's covered in thorns."

In a moment of inspiration, Old Zhao took out a large stack of old English newspapers from the side, which he usually used to line the bottom of flower pots.

Then he pulled out a roll of rough, yellow hemp rope.

"How about this? I see that young people in the city like this retro style. They roll up a newspaper, tie it with hemp rope, and it's really... artsy!" Old Zhao tried his best to promote it.

He Zheng glanced at the pile of dusty old newspapers and rustic hemp rope.

Then look at the pile of blood-red roses on the table.

Fresh and beautiful.

"Wrap it up." He Zheng made the decision.

He did it himself.

Old Zhao helped tidy up the flower branches.

He Zheng took a thick old newspaper, folded it in half, and roughly wrapped the ninety-nine roses inside.

The bouquet was too big; two newspapers couldn't cover it, so he added three more.

Then, pulling the yellow hemp rope, it was tightly wrapped three times around the lower middle section of the bouquet.

Press your thumb against the knot, pull hard, and tie a tight knot.

He cut the excess hemp rope with a single scissor.

A huge, heavy, and even wildly exuding red rose was born.

There were no baby's breath flowers as decoration, no pink greeting cards, and no perfume spray.

It was just a bunch of thorny roses, wrapped in old newspapers and tightly bound with hemp rope.

This flower perfectly aligns with He Zheng's aesthetic: strong and unpretentious.

He took out his phone from his pocket, scanned the QR code on the wall, and transferred two thousand yuan.

"I'm gone."

He picked up the huge bouquet of roses with one hand, turned around and walked out of the greenhouse.

The bouquet was enormous, and with the thick newspaper, it was incredibly heavy; he held it in his arms like he was holding a bomb.

Open the rear door of the SUV and place the flowers steadily on the leather seat.

Close the door and get in the car.

With a turn of the steering wheel, the SUV sped off towards the city center.

*

5:30 p.m., downtown, arts center.

Located in an office building in the CBD, this art center is decorated with great style.

Light wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, abstract oil paintings hanging in the corridor, and a faint scent of white tea in the air.

Shu Yao sat in her private cello classroom.

Today she wore a khaki fitted knit maxi dress with a thin leather belt around her waist, and a beige cashmere cardigan over it.

Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her makeup was exquisite.

But the dark circles under his eyes weren't completely covered by concealer.

Having just seen off her last student, she leaned back in her chair, exhausted, and pushed her cello aside.

I picked up the Starbucks paper cup on the table and took a big gulp of iced Americano.

The cold liquid slid into her stomach, and she couldn't help but shiver.

So cold.

She slept in the guest room for two days in a row, but the light down comforter was no match for her; she felt the cold seeping into her very bones.

My hands and feet are cold, and my throat feels tight, like I'm about to catch a cold.

The classroom door was pushed open.

Qiaoqiao walked in carrying two delicate little cakes.

"get out of class is over, Shu, my beautiful lady." Qiao Qiao pulled up a chair, sat down opposite Shu Yao, and placed the cake on the table.

"I brought this for you, Black Forest cake. Have something sweet to replenish your energy."

Shu Yao had no appetite and shook her head. "Leave it, I don't want to eat it."

She reached up and rubbed her sore neck, and couldn't help but sneeze.

Achoo!

Qiaoqiao took out a tissue from her bag and handed it to her. "What's wrong? Have you caught a cold? Your voice sounds so nasal."

Shu Yao took a tissue and wiped her nose.

"The guest room is cold," she said sullenly.

Qiaoqiao was delighted when she heard that.

"Serves you right. Who told you to do this? Why didn't you sleep in the master bedroom? Why did you have to go and sleep in the cold palace? Are you punishing him or yourself?"

Qiaoqiao picked up the small fork on the table, scooped out a piece of cake and put it in her mouth, complaining as she ate.

"You actually let him use that face wash to wash his hair?"

Mentioning this matter made Shu Yao angry again.

"Don't even mention it! Just thinking about it gives me a headache. He was such an unromantic caveman!"

Shu Yao slammed her hands on the table, her eyes slightly red from anger and a cold.

"He has no idea what quality of life is. He thinks anything that lathers up can be used to wash his face. Why doesn't he just use dish soap to wash his hair? It's much better at removing oil!"

Qiaoqiao almost choked on the cake while laughing, so she quickly drank some water.

"That's just how straight men are. A special police officer like He Zheng deals with mud and water every day, do you expect him to know anything about skincare products?"

Qiaoqiao leaned forward, looking on with a gossipy expression.

"Hey, seriously, have you two been giving each other the cold shoulder for the past two days? Hasn't he tried to coax you or say anything nice?"