Seeing Yan Yunong standing there dumbfounded, Shen Nanqiao laughed even more freely and called out, “Yan Yunong, I made this oil-paper umbrella myself. It’s your New Year’s gift. Do you like it?”
By now, Yan Yunong could no longer think about why he had appeared here. When she heard his question, she nodded without thinking. “I do.”
Hearing her answer, Shen Nanqiao turned his wrist, revealing the other side of the umbrella. It bore a line of poetry: “I have nothing from Jiangnan to offer, so I give you a sprig of spring.” He was hinting that Yan Yunong was like the spring scenery of Jiangnan.
Yan Yunong finally came to her senses and realized that Shen Nanqiao really had returned. Looking at the painting, she blushed and didn’t know what to say, so she abruptly shut the window and hid inside. The scene felt oddly familiar, just like that summer day when she had first met Shen Nanqiao.
