Trust was a weighty gift.
A gift did not necessarily bring pleasure; it could also become a burden.
As the saying went, only the person who tied the knot could untie it. At heart, Jiang Yu was angry because Zheng Qing did not "trust" her enough—he did not believe she could look after herself, did not believe she could bear more pressure, did not believe that even if they stepped into a mud pit hand in hand, she would laugh along with him.
What made it even more frustrating was that she knew he did it because he cherished her.
She wanted to be his eyes and look in the same direction with him, not a piece of jade treasured away in a box. Sometimes, the relationship between a man and a woman was just that delicate.
Once he understood this, finding the right remedy became relatively easy.
All Zheng Qing needed to do was make up for her feeling of being "overlooked" and give her enough of a sense that she "mattered." That would be more useful than finding a hundred four-leaf clovers in the Silent Forest.
And Jiang Yu answered Zheng Qing's trust with faith of her own—she did not spoil the mood by asking why the Moonlit Parliament Upper Councilor, who was also at the school and had a complicated relationship with him, was not worthy of his trust; nor did she ask why Xiao Xiao, Xin, Zhang Jixin, and the others were not worthy of it.
He trusted her.
She accepted that trust.
That was enough.
"—There's a special communication channel between Buji Island and Zhong Mountain."
The witch carefully pinched the neck of the pointed-bottom glass bottle, studying the pearly mist swirling and tumbling inside, and gave a tiny nod. "Three days at most. Hmm,