Now that He Zhichu had specifically called out to them, Gu Nianzhi and Mei Xiawen could no longer pretend not to have seen him.
The two of them turned to face He Zhichu.
He Zhichu was wearing a light-colored casual suit. His hands were in his pockets, and his posture was relaxed. His eyes lingered briefly on Gu Nianzhi and Mei Xiawen's intertwined fingers.
As the saying went, ignorance was bliss—it was better not to know how badly you compared to someone else.
Mei Xiawen had always been a dreamy Adonis in the eyes of women. Now, however, in the face of He Zhichu—mature, sophisticated, and dignified—he looked like an awkward overgrown child in comparison.
Standing before He Zhichu, Mei Xiawen felt, for the first time in his life, uncomfortable in his own skin.
But He Zhichu wasn't looking at him; he was looking at Gu Nianzhi, scrutinizing the cheek that had been injured. "Why don't you join me? My table is big enough for all of us."
