Had his brothers not nudged him from behind, he would still have been dazed.

"Right, right, there’s also Qingyu," Sixth Hoffman slapped his forehead, "Qingyu said he was coming to see you."

Hannah frowned, "If he wanted to come, you should have brought him along?"

Sixth Hoffman smiled, "We couldn’t stop him, you see."

He waved at Qingyu, beckoning him over.

"Why are you still standing there? You’ve been talking about this the whole way here, and now you don’t even greet her?"

Sixth Hoffman watched and felt anxious for him.

It was then Qingyu walked up.

His gaze fixated on Hannah, maintaining a neither too close nor too distant space, he called out, "Hannah."

He heard his own voice, slightly hoarse.

Hannah smiled at him, teasing him as before, "Little monk, why is your health still so poor?"

It wasn’t poor at all.

Just in that moment, he was both pale and flushed.

Having walked in the desert for nearly half a month, his face hadn’t tanned at all.

He still looked excessively delicate.

Gregory Lawrence whispered to the desolate, "Look, look, the rival in love is here."

The rival, naturally, referred to Qingyu.

Rarely curious, Desolate glanced at Arnold Simmons’ complexion.

It wasn’t clear whether it was the lighting, but he looked worse.

"Desolate, let me tell you, this is the look of a man who’s jealous. He wasn’t even this intense when fighting the black serpent."

Gregory Lawrence muttered, and unusually, Desolate didn’t tell him to shut up.

The sun above was as usual, piercingly hot.

The weather had been this way for several days now, as if all the moisture in the air had been evaporated.

Qingyu looked at Hannah, catching sight of those exceptionally familiar eyes.

Beautiful and radiant.

No longer just like in a dream—lovely, yet as if separated by a thin mist, untouchable.

"Hannah, I’m really worried about you."

Over the years, most of his worries had been about Hannah.

For someone as reserved as him, saying "I’m worried about you" was quite bold.

Hannah was momentarily stunned, then she recovered and smiled, "I’m fine, don’t worry."

Qingyu lowered his head and said, "Alright."

Arnold Simmons stood not far away, listening to the conversation.

He counted the words.

After three sentences, he voluntarily called out, "Hannah."

He rarely called her that in front of others.

Hannah.

A very intimate nickname.

Only at night, or when they were in each other’s arms, would he say that name.

Hannah turned her head, softly responding almost subconsciously, "Hmm? What’s up?"

This was a different voice from when she spoke to others.

Coquettishly talking with someone you like is subconscious.

Gregory Lawrence exclaimed, "Wow, this is going to be good."

Desolate crossed his arms and remained silent, only his eyes showing agreement.

A duo watching the drama.

This intimate manner of addressing her was easily picked up by Qingyu.

Only then did he notice the man standing behind Hannah.

The first thing he noticed were his eyes.

Profound as the dark night.

That face, with sharp features and distinct outlines, would not lose even to Wayne Lane or Sheffield Benedict.

Probably because Nicholas talked about it often, Qingyu subconsciously made such comparisons.

When Nicholas was bored, he liked to joke about these things.

Saying things like Hannah brought Qingyu back because she fancied his face, and he’d make a perfect child-husband.

He also mentioned that Wayne and Sheffield were also good-looking, joking about snatching them up one day to rule over the village.