"What kind of fairy tale do you want to write?" Lin Qian waved her right hand gently, pouring tea into the cup, and a fragrant chestnut fragrance spread out.
Yan Run took the tea and sipped it gently, thinking about it for a moment, with a touch of softness between her brows: "West Lake Longjing, good tea."
Lin Qian raised her eyebrows and remained silent.
When the glass bottomed out, Yanrun took care of herself and picked up the pot to refill the water.
Lin Qian curled her lips slightly, and a hint of teasing flashed in her eyes: "Writer Yan is becoming more and more proficient in his techniques."
She brought the tea cup to her mouth and paused for a long time. After a long time, plain but firm words rang out, moistening her eyes.
"In the fairy tale, there are only you and me, and... The fragrance of tea."