Song Lianhe tilted her head at him, then suddenly craned her neck to look behind him. "Your wife?"
Zhou Junlin froze, instinctively taking a few steps back.
When he looked up and met Song Lianhe's teasing smile, his brows furrowed. A flicker of anger rose within him—the indignation of being made a fool.
But as a martial artist, he should have been able to hear that there were no footsteps behind him. It was only because of the sliver of guilt lingering in his heart that his judgment had failed him for a moment.
After all, he knew perfectly well what kind of feelings he harbored for the woman before him.
Song Lianhe reached out a finger, poking him on the shoulder and pushing him back bit by bit. "I can tell your wife truly adores you. You mustn't break her heart."
With that, she let out a delicate laugh, flicked her flowing sleeve, and turned to go. Her slender waist was tantalizingly visible through the thin fabric.
Zhou Junlin was thoroughly vexed.
Vexed with her.
