First, then, love.

The SUV broke through the congested evening rush hour traffic.

Inside the carriage, there was a strong earthy smell, mixed with the smell of cheap ink and a cloyingly sweet rose scent.

The three flavors mixed together made my head ache.

Shu Yao sat in the passenger seat, with a huge newspaper rose on her lap. It was so heavy that it made her thighs ache.

She turned her head and looked out the car window, ignoring everyone.

The lingering effects of the Cold War are still present, but much of that overwhelming anger has dissipated.

He Zheng held the steering wheel with one hand, driving the car very steadily.

The car window was rolled down halfway, and a cold breeze rushed into the cabin, dispersing some of the pungent smell of ink.

Shu Yao couldn't help but glance to the side out of the corner of her eye.

The car stopped at the red light.

He Zheng rested his right hand on the gear shift.

Shu Yao could clearly see his sleeve, a pure black windbreaker, with a large patch of yellowish-brown dried mud smeared on the cuff.

Look down.

On the back of his hand, which was gripping the gearshift, were several crisscrossing bloodstains, fresh, some still oozing blood, scraped raw by rose thorns.

Shu Yao's throat tightened.

She bit her lower lip, turned her gaze back to the tattered newspaper on her lap that read "Catch the Fugitive."

This man is rough, savage, and lacks any sense of romance.

But he personally went down to the ground, treading through the mud, and picked out these ninety-nine flowers for her, one by one.

Shu Yao sighed.

Forget it, why bother arguing with a caveman? You'll only make yourself angry.

*

Half an hour later.

Jinxiu Huating, underground parking garage.

The car came to a complete stop and the engine was turned off.

He Zheng unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over.

His broad chest pressed down on me, carrying the scent of his hormones mixed with sweat and dirt.

Shu Yao instinctively backed away, "What are you doing?"

"It's too heavy, I'll carry it." He Zheng's voice was hoarse.

He stretched out his long arm and took the huge bouquet of flowers directly from her lap.

I opened the car door and got out.

The two entered the elevator one after the other.

The elevator doors closed, creating a confined space.

Shu Yao looked at the bouquet of flowers in his arms, then at his expressionless profile.

Unable to resist, I let out a soft "pfft".

Laugh out loud.

He Zheng turned his head, his dark eyes looking at her. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at your stupidity." Shu Yao raised her chin, her tone still spoiled but without the thorn. "Who wraps flowers in old newspapers? Do you think this is buying cabbages?"

"There are only newspapers in the greenhouse," He Zheng said truthfully.

"If you don't have wrapping paper, can't you just go to a florist and buy some?"

"It's troublesome and will take up your time. I'm afraid I won't be able to get off work in time."

The elevator reached the 22nd floor.

The door slid open.

He Zheng, holding the flowers, strode out.

Shu Yao followed behind, looking at his broad back, and shook her head helplessly.

Unlock with fingerprint and push open the door.

The room was quiet.

Hearing the noise, the princess jumped off the sofa and walked over with elegant cat steps to greet the door.

It walked to He Zheng's legs and was about to rub against him.

Suddenly, the pink nose twitched twice, smelling a muddy and inky odor.

The princess sneezed in disgust, turned around, and walked away without even glancing at her.

The God of War lay on the dog mat in the corner, wagged its tail, and didn't dare to move.

He Zheng ignored the cat, changed his shoes, and walked into the living room with the flowers in his arms.

He placed the heavy newspaper rose directly onto the black slab coffee table.

"Clatter".

A clump of black, wet mud fell from the flower root.

Unfortunately, it landed right on Shu Yao's snow-white cashmere carpet.

A glaring black spot suddenly appeared on the white downy fur.

Shu Yao had just changed into her slippers and walked over when she immediately noticed the patch of mud.

"He Zheng! My carpet!"

Her voice rose, and she gasped with heartache. This carpet cost tens of thousands of yuan, and the mud on it was impossible to wash off.

He Zheng paused.

He glanced down at the mud.

He bent down and picked it up, then patted the residue off the carpet, walked to the kitchen, threw it in the trash can, and turned on the tap to wash his hands.

The sound of rushing water was loud and clear.

Shu Yao walked to the coffee table.

Looking at this absurd bouquet of red roses.

The headline of the Nancheng Daily was even more glaring under the bright lights of the living room.

[Swift Action! City Police Successfully Apprehend Two Armed Suspects on the Run!]

She looked at the title, then at the knotted rope.

This man truly has absolutely no romantic soul.

But her anger had indeed subsided considerably.

He turned and walked towards the storage room.

Deep inside the cabinet, a heavy box was found.

Inside was a French Baccarat crystal vase, transparent and refracting brilliant light, worth tens of thousands.

She brought this with her when she moved; she usually uses it to hold lisianthus.

She carried the vase to the kitchen island and filled it with more than half a bottle of water.

I picked up a special pair of floral scissors.

Back in the living room.

He Zheng came out after washing his hands, holding a tissue to dry them.

He watched her place the sparkling glass bottle on the coffee table.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Flower arrangement," Shu Yao replied irritably.

She picked up the scissors and aimed them at the rough hemp rope.

With a forceful snip, "snip!"

The rope broke.

The crumpled old newspapers instantly scattered.

Ninety-nine exquisite, dark red, top-quality roses, now freed from their restraints, suddenly scattered across the coffee table.

The rich floral fragrance burst forth instantly, overpowering the tuberose in the room.

This flower is truly beautiful; the buds are enormous, with a velvety texture, layered upon layered, brimming with vitality.

But it is indeed wild, with thick branches covered with sharp, hard thorns.

Shu Yao frowned.

There are too many thorns; it's a real hassle to deal with them.

She stretched out her fair and delicate fingers, carefully pinched a flower stem, and prepared to cut off the leaves at the bottom.

"I'll do it." He Zheng stepped forward.

"No need." Shu Yao blocked him with her elbow. "You're too rough. Don't break my crystal vase worth tens of thousands of yuan. You can't afford to pay for it."

He Zheng stopped in his tracks.

He stood beside her, looking down at her.

Watching her delicate hands, which were used to playing the cello, picking and choosing among a pile of thorny branches.

Shu Yao held the thickest flower branch in her left hand and scissors in her right.

This branch has a lot of thorns, which are hard and long.

She applied a little force, and the scissors slipped a bit.

"hiss--"

A short, sharp cry of pain.

The scissors slipped from my hand and fell onto the glass coffee table with a crisp sound.

Shu Yao gasped and abruptly withdrew her hand.

A sharp rose thorn pierced the pad of his right index finger, penetrating deeply.

The moment the thorn was pulled out, a large, bright red bead of blood immediately gushed out.

The pain in my fingers is excruciating.

She was in so much pain that tears were about to fall.

Before she could react...

He Zheng, who was standing next to him, suddenly sharpened his gaze.

He moved with lightning speed.

He took a step forward and grabbed her right wrist with his large hand.

Shu Yao exclaimed in surprise, "He Zheng, you're hurting me..."

He hadn't finished speaking.

He Zheng suddenly lowered his head, opened his mouth, and took her tender white index finger, which was still oozing blood, into his mouth.