Song Yuan's voice was soft and gentle, unhurried, so quiet that others couldn't quite catch what she was saying.
After she spoke, there was no response from Bo Yanching. She looked up at him; he had a stern face with sharp features, seemingly polite, but there was an undercurrent of impatience in his eyes.
Song Yuan wisely shut her mouth and picked up a piece of winter melon.
"Brother Yanqing, try this; it's simmered in broth..."
The chopsticks couldn't reach Bo Yanching's bowl because he suddenly looked up, his half-curled fist resting on her wrist.
"Eat it yourself."
Song Yuan bit her lip and carefully withdrew her hand, replying softly: "Okay..."
Bo Yanching's irritation became even harder to conceal. He yanked at his tie, loosening it by half a finger's width, and his finger brushed against the first button of his shirt.
As he withdrew his hand, his elbow hit something, knocking over a small bowl of soup in front of Song Yuan.
