The stone path curved toward Lin Huahua's home, where the air was quieter and the entrance was shaded by rough stone walls and hanging animal hide curtains.
Only then did Lin Huahua finally dare lift her face from Feng Yiren's chest. Her cheeks were still red.
She looked around and, after confirming that fewer people were watching, she coughed lightly and tried to return to normal. Then she remembered she was still being carried.
Immediately, she straightened her little face and ordered, "Put me down."
Feng Yiren's brows moved. To be honest, he did not want to. He had been carrying her all this time, and the more he carried her, the more he liked it. To him , his femme was light, warm, soft, and smelled sweet.
The fox in him was so satisfied that if someone offered him meat right now, he might not even bother looking at it.
But after hearing her voice, he still lowered his head to look at her. Lin Huahua was trying to look serious.
