Qin Muye's pupils contracted, and his heart skipped a beat.
He looked up at the girl, who was barely an arm's length away.
Morning light streamed down. Jiang Qingli was chatting with her friends. She must have heard something amusing, because she laughed aloud, her eyes curving into crescents like the new moon on a spring night.
His gaze traveled past her delicate nose and landed on her slightly upturned lips.
Qin Muye didn't know anything about lipstick shades; all he knew was that her lips were the color of crushed raspberries.
'They definitely wouldn't taste any worse than raspberries...'
Qin Muye's head was already spinning.
The unfinished dream from that night flashed through his mind again and again: her looking down on him from above, the disdain in her upturned eyes, the way she'd stroked his head and said, "Good boy," and how she'd lifted his chin, leaning down for a kiss that never came...
His Adam's apple bobbed. Qin Muye's breathing quickened involuntarily.
