"But I see that Miss Song is doing quite well, almost making this place her own." The man retrieved his sidelong glance and continued sipping his soup. His long, slender, fair fingers held the white porcelain spoon, making his entire hand look as delicate as the porcelain itself.
"Did you call me here just to talk about this?"
The man put down the spoon and the soup bowl, then turned around.
In his dark pupils, the image of Chuzheng was reflected. He stepped closer to Chuzheng, the distance between them incrementally shrinking.
Until they were face to face, feeling each other's breath.
The man slightly turned aside, bypassing Chuzheng's cheek, and gently sniffed.
"The scent on Miss Song, it's somewhat familiar."
"..."
The man's lazy voice continued, "That night... it was Miss Song, wasn't it?" The person who hit him was about her size, though he wasn't entirely sure.
Chuzheng's face remained calm: "What night?"
Trying to trick me!
No way!
