Having promised to hold back, Wen Qiao's eyes unexpectedly started to redden and moisten, finally filling with tears as Fu Jinghen uttered some indeterminate word.
Just a second before the tears could fall, she quickly turned her head and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, then exhaled slowly.
Fu Jinghen didn't rush her and patiently waited for her to compose herself, watching as she turned back to face him, her eyes lowered.
Wen Qiao's voice carried a hint of sobbing: "Saying such words in front of everyone, aren't you embarrassed?"
Fu Jinghen continued smiling: "Face doesn't matter; compared to you, I want you more."
"You're just…," Wen Qiao's lips curled back into a smile. She looked back at him, extending her hand in front of him, saying haughtily: "Alright then, for the sake of that face of yours, I'll let it go."
Fu Jinghen's smile broadened, and he moved the bouquet of roses toward her: "First, take the flowers."
