Little Star sat down opposite the person, gave a polite smile, and whispered in English, "Excuse me, I'll just borrow this seat for a bit." But when she lifted her eyes, she couldn't help taking a second look. Because this person was Chinese. And his face looked somewhat familiar.
At nine in the morning, the warm sunlight poured in from the seats by the window, spilling over the entire long square table, with golden dust motes dancing delicately in midair. They took turns wrapping around a pair of perfectly slender hands that were turning the pages of a newspaper.
And the owner of those hands also possessed a stunningly handsome face that looked as if it had been kissed by the Creator.
