Through the thin layer of her nightgown, Su Ziceng could even feel the contours of Pello's chest muscles. Her ears grew redder and redder, like drops of blood on agate.
After recounting last night's events in detail, Pello finally relaxed his grip and, as if nothing had happened, sat back down, "So Hang Yishao is your fiancé, I didn't know that."
"It was a joke made by our parents in the past," Su Ziceng didn't know why she felt the need to explain. She observed Pello's expression carefully; he had returned to his usual demeanor, no sign of his earlier rogue-like appearance.
"You don't understand Hang Yishao well enough," Pello said with pity: "Right now, he is half-hooked and restless because of you, but your performance last night undoubtedly made him quite smug."
Su Ziceng shut her wardrobe with a slam, Pello's pedagogic tone educating her made her feel even worse, "Pello, do you like me at all?" A blunt question, typical of Su Ziceng's style.
