When Wenxin slipped her hand into her trench coat pocket, she pulled out a lighter. "I forgot to give you this lighter. Do you want it?"
Shen Jing's head instantly retracted.
Wenxin had clearly witnessed the scene. She saw a young lady hidden under the table, face pressed against Zhou Luchen's waist, grumbling incessantly. The girl was most likely blaming Wenxin for looking back.
The fabric wasn't breathable. It had left Shen Jing with her hair a mess, her clothes in disarray, and her lips a visibly bold, brilliant red—both delicate and pitiable. One didn't need to think too hard to know why she had hidden under the table.
Really, who forced her to hide under there?
Wenxin looked at Zhou Luchen again. He showed no panic at being exposed, his face devoid of any emotion, utterly impassive.
It was indescribably absurd, so absurd.
