Shen Zhixi's lips curved into a meaningful arc, "Xia Ye, you've known who I am for a while, haven't you?"
Both were seated, almost at eye level.
Xia Ye leaned back, her legs crossed at the ankles, her posture casual and rebellious.
She looked quite wild.
If one didn't look carefully at the ropes on her hands, they might think she was the kidnapper, and the sickly Shen Zhixi the prisoner instead.
The sound of a door opening echoed from behind, and footsteps approached—Xia Ye found them especially familiar at that moment. Sealed memories started to crack open, recalling those 14 years of captivity when she had heard these familiar footsteps countless times.
"I know," Xia Ye sprawled her hands on the back of the chair, "Only you would come up with something this nasty."
Shen Zhixi seemed patient, glancing calmly over her shoulder, where the footsteps obediently stopped.
