In the early morning, night rain had just cleared.
The mountain was damp all over, with large drops of accumulated water falling from the leaves and landing on the rabbit hat, creating a mess.
Zhao Changhe, holding Cui Yuanyang's small hand, darted through the forest. Having crossed the mountain where they rested at night, avoiding the mountain paths, they continued to dash up another mountain, choosing only deserted wild trails.
Cui Yuanyang had no complaints, obediently letting him hold her hand, allowing the brambles to tear her lovely clothes to shreds.
She didn't make a choice, letting Zhao Changhe arrange things, but this attitude itself indicated her choice—she didn't want to choose the first one.