Song Qiao looked down at the white porcelain bowl in front of her, not looking at him. After a few seconds of silence, she raised her head to gaze at the man opposite, revealing a bland smile as she spoke, "I don't have much of an appetite today. You wouldn't force me to eat, would you?"
"Is it truly that you're not hungry, or is it because I'm sitting in front of you, that you lack the appetite to eat?" The man set down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and with a calm gaze observed the woman opposite, leaning against the back of his chair.
The expression on the man's face and his tone did not fluctuate at all, as if he were discussing something as simple as anything could be.
That question wasn't really a question, but rather spoken with an air of certainty.
Song Qiao was taken aback, her hand holding the chopsticks involuntarily curling up, and with gritted teeth she retorted, "I just don't have an appetite, and it has nothing to do with you."
