The deep, magnetic voice pulled Qin Yiren from that seemingly real yet illusory situation.
She held her dizzy head, Qingmei's small face pale, with sweat-soaked bangs on her forehead, looking rather fragile and pitiful.
Chuxinian noticed her abnormality.
Chuxinian stepped forward to support her delicate shoulders, frowning at the thin feeling, his voice soft as if afraid to scare her: "Yi Ren?"
"...Hmm."
Qin Yiren struggled to look up at him, the broken memories in her mind combined with his handsome face, making her ask involuntarily, "Do you... have a pink rabbit apron?"
That apron was really quite distasteful.
Now, she couldn't clearly recall what she just remembered, except for that particularly conspicuous pink rabbit apron, like an anchor point in the memory fragments, impossible to ignore.
Chuxinian stared at her, his dark eyes filled with joyous surprise: "Yes, you've remembered?"
Facing the man's exceedingly hopeful gaze.
