Your Love, My City
Young love is like a hot, humid summer—leaving one restless and unable to find peace.
As for Jiang Sui—
She was the girl who nervously rubbed her hands together, cautiously testing the waters as she asked Zhou Chi, “What kind of girl do you like?”
She was also the girl who tugged at the little bow on her sock while whispering ever so softly, “I want you.”
As for Zhou Chi—
He was the one who pressed Jiang Sui's head into the crook of his shoulder when she had been wronged, telling her, “Stop crying. I've got your back now, haven't I?”
He was also the one who called her “Shorty” because she was twenty centimeters shorter than him, yet gently ruffled her hair with a tenderness that belied his teasing words.
When they first met, he was, in name, her younger maternal uncle. He kept everyone at arm's length, occupying the little attic at home and living as an easygoing young master who wanted nothing to do with the world. He seemed determined to keep his distance from her for the rest of their lives.
Who would have thought that this lazy young master would eventually discover the stirrings of love? Before long, he became as clingy as a little puppy, sticking close to the girl and exhausting every last trick in his repertoire to tease her into confessing her feelings.
Some roses may appear elegant and aloof, with thorns that demand gentle care and protection. But they are simply too beautiful to resist.
Zhou Chi was exactly such a rose.
And Jiang Sui couldn't resist picking him.
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