She stood to the side of the office desk. Yan Huo and Xuan Liu knelt before it, while Bei Mingyuan sat calmly behind it. She didn't dare meet Bei Mingyuan's gaze. Averting her eyes, she half-turned her head away.
Then, her eyes fell upon the wall behind Yan Huo and Xuan Liu. And on it, a white T-shirt. It was spread flat against the wall, like a peculiar banner.
What was important were the words on it.
Her ugly, chicken-scratch handwriting was right next to his few sweeping, powerful strokes that looked as if they could pierce right through the fabric.
'Just his handwriting is that domineering and arrogant,' she grumbled internally. 'No wonder he's such a pain to deal with. Seriously, does the contrast have to be this stark? My pride is wounded!' But his silence felt like a wordless pressure, making the air grow taut and leaving her no more time to think.
Gritting her teeth, she said, "Fine... consider this me asking for a favor... a normal one."
