Qiao Ran awoke, her nose filled with a familiar scent.
Whether it was the pillow or the soft-as-silk quilt covering her body, both bore the familiar body fragrance of that person from her memories.
Even though they had only entwined twice, sharing a bed just twice,
the scent from his body, much like poppies, lingered persistently in the deepest recesses of her memory.
Any trace of him could instantly stir up the memories she had of him in her heart.
Languidly stretching her limbs in the vast bed, she realized that there was none of the usual heaviness or weakness when waking up.
Her mind felt especially clear and tranquil.
Ever since she learned her blood could cure all Locust Poison, for the past two years, Qiao Ran had regarded herself as a kind of medicinal primer.
She had been secretly donating her blood regularly, storing enough to effectively detoxify Tang Hui's wife of the poison in her body through blood transfusions.