CHAPTER 237: CHAPTER 64: FLOWER TOMB, BEAUTY’S SMILE

Just because I’ve been quiet for a few days doesn’t mean I’ve become reserved. When it comes to critical moments, I still have to jump into action. I need to make a significant decision. Taking a lesson from the book "Socialite," to keep up with readers’ reactions and to enrich my work time, I’ve decided to set aside outdated books and start working on two new ones.

One contemporary romance and one historical. My new contemporary romance book will be released tomorrow night, and the historical one will start the next month. Seeing how hardworking I am, everyone, please take a glance and support it if it’s to your liking. Happy reading this weekend, and remember to nag less and write more, sinking deep into it~~

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When Su Ziceng left ZARA’s headquarters, the wind from the Mediterranean turned her face red; she lifted her head to look at the clear sky without a cloud and made a "V" gesture.

On her last day in Paris, after clearing her wages, Su Ziceng sat on the square where she had met Lin Ying. Holding a bag of breadcrumbs in her hand, this was the first time she fed the pigeons over a month. These lovely spirits had already become part of her life in Paris. However, her life in Paris would end tomorrow.

It’s a pity that in this unfamiliar city, the only person she knew was currently across the English Channel, striving for his dreams.

"Everything is going well," although Su Ziceng couldn’t reach Ziyu, she could still see news about this rising East model sensation from the newspapers on the streets.

Before long, Lin Ying would display her unique charm on more runways. Su Ziceng knew that it wasn’t because of their encounter that Ziyu started on the runway—sooner or later, she would set foot on that colorful avenue of her own accord.

"I have one hundred francs left," Su Ziceng pursed her lips; she had found a warm-hearted colleague willing to take her to the airport, so the one hundred francs she brought from Mo City became a redundant encumbrance.

Originally, Su Ziceng wanted to bring the money back as a souvenir, but as she walked along the Seine River, reminiscing about her last moments in Paris, she changed her mind.

Walking along the river can create an illusion of passing through a long river of history, but it was only the flower stalls on both sides that gave Su Ziceng a touch of reality.

In front of the flower stall, there were no more romantic blue hyacinths. Among a row of flower shops, Su Ziceng saw clusters of fiery red roses and the smiling, red-nosed female florist.

The florist still remembered her, and Su Ziceng approached, looking at bunches of red roses.

"Lovely miss, you’re here again, I hope your parents have reconciled," the French florist indeed remembered Su Ziceng, "Are you buying flowers for someone else again today?"

That day, after Su Ziceng and Hang Yishao’s incident, she made up a story about her parents arguing to order flowers that would make them reconcile.

"Thank you, they have made up," Su Ziceng replied with a smile, then her gaze fell on the bunch of red roses. The "Red Love" in her chest warmed up again, as if cheering for her performance over the past month.

"Perhaps, I should buy a bunch of roses for myself," she took out the one hundred francs.

"Lovely miss, which flowers do you like?" the florist greeted her warmly.

"I like... which flowers do you like?" Su Ziceng changed her mind again, realizing that even the most beautiful flowers would lose their luster after the turbulence of a flight. What she wanted to show to the Kelly Women’s College, to Pello, was a vibrant face.

"Iris, it is our French national flower," pride of the French shone on the florist’s face.

"Then let it be iris," watching the florist tie together a few stalks of purple irises, with their lush green stems and full blooms emanating elegance.

After paying, Su Ziceng cradled the bouquet of irises in her arms, gazed at them intently for a moment, but when she left, she handed the bouquet back to the florist and blinked, saying "This is for you."

Her figure quickly vanished along the banks of the Seine River; the French florist stared at the bouquet of irises, dumbfounded. In her more than twenty years of selling flowers, this was the first time a customer had given her flowers, and it was her favorite kind.

The night turned purple among the irises; Su Ziceng crossed the Seine River, walking along the Champs Elysees, and looking at the billboard standing not far away, she whispered to herself: This time when I go back, everything will be different.