Zechuan's bright smile immediately fell, replaced by a look of tragic disappointment. He looked at the deadly flower in his hand, his lower lip actually jutting out in a subtle, pathetic pout.
"But it is pretty," Zechuan mumbled sadly, dropping the Death-Bloom into the fire pit, where it instantly exploded in a plume of toxic purple smoke that Ji'an had to hastily dispel with a wave of her spatula. "I just wanted to give you a gift. The maidens in the Azure Crane pavilion said that giving flowers was a sign of deep camaraderie."
Ji'an rubbed the bridge of her nose, a long, exasperated sigh escaping her lips.
She looked at him. The drooping shoulders, the messy raven hair, the unyielding desire to just make her happy.
Whatever he was, a clone, twin, or soul fragment, he was incredibly, dangerously endearing. The frustration and anxiety she had been harboring entirely melted away, replaced by that familiar, reluctant, deep affection.
