Midnight, twelve o'clock.
While Li Qing was preparing wine and snacks, Ning Youguang and Jiang Wei were admiring the flowers she was cultivating on the windowsill.
"The flowers look really nice here." Jiang Wei gently touched the purple hyacinth petals beneath her hand, "But I don't like the meaning behind hyacinths; it's quite tragic."
Being a flower enthusiast, Ning Youguang naturally knew the meaning of hyacinths — Apollo's lover turned into a flower through tragedy, known as the hyacinth.
"You can look at it optimistically, you know? I think it's beautiful." Ning Youguang carefully took out her phone from her pocket to photograph the beautiful hyacinths Li Qing had on her windowsill.
"I know, but love was preserved, wasn't it? Instead of turning into bones, they bloom into fragrant flowers."
After answering, Jiang Wei bent down to take in the fragrance of the hyacinths, "It's so fragrant."
