Song Tan’s Chronicle - Chapter 127.2

Meanwhile, in the capital city.

At Wanhe Garden.

The Fengfeng Express delivery boy had just left. Lu Chuan closed the door and opened the small box he had received.

Behind him, in the small, layered entry garden, the dark green leaves of the Philodendron melanochrysum had already been adjusted.

The light green primroses below were almost in bloom, and the deep purple streptocarpus nestled near the window’s edge were blossoming in the center.

The air was filled with the subtle, lingering scent of tea, which calmed the mind and refreshed the spirit. Within just one day, Lu Chuan had easily changed his long-standing preference.

He had given up Phoenix Dancong tea and instead fallen in love with this unknown green tea.

The only bit of trouble was that this green tea couldn’t be drunk in the bedroom or at night; otherwise, its aroma would linger and cause a sleepless night—

He had managed to write 10,000 words overnight, thanks to the effects of that green tea.

And now, just after he couldn’t resist brewing another cup, another delivery had arrived.

This time, he carefully read the name and address on the delivery label, noting the hidden parts of the phone number.

Song Tan.

He made sure to remember the name again.

With hands like cold jade, slender fingers gripping a sharp utility knife, he sliced open the packing tape on the box, a sense of anticipation rising within him.

So this was the honey mentioned earlier?

The two jars of honey, carefully packed in air-cushion columns, weren’t large; he could hold each jar in one hand.

But the wild vegetables he had tasted before, the Chinese Milk Vetch in the fridge, and the tea leaves in his cup—all of these had given Lu Chuan a hint:

This honey would surely be an extraordinary delicacy.

He slightly lifted the ordinary hexagonal glass jar with a black lid. Through the clear glass, he could see the creamy yellow honey inside, which had already started to crystallize.

The light from the northern balcony window of the garden wasn’t too bright. Yet, in the interplay of light and shadow, his side profile looked like a tall bamboo in the forest, upright and graceful, full of rhythm.

The silk of his robe slipped down his raised wrist, pausing at the burn scar on his elbow. It made his jade-like wrist appear even more delicate, with a fragile and breathtaking beauty.

And the slightly prominent radial bone and the muscle line on his arm that hadn’t fully disappeared still hinted at his strength.

After all, it was these very hands that, in the most dangerous moment, had supported the ground, protecting Song Tan beneath him, even as the scorching fire from the explosion raged around them.