At that moment, Zheng Ren felt the blood in his body freeze.
This was out of his calculations.
Warm.
Smooth.
Soft.
Zheng Ren instinctively clutched Little Yiren's hand tight. Xie Yiren tried to tug her hand back, but Zheng Ren maintained his grip.
He took a step forward, and another, and another.
Time seemed to slow down around them; each passing second felt like a minute.
Zheng Ren could feel the pulse underneath Xie Yiren's delicate skin.
Each beat was clear and strong.
The stories were a lie.
Zheng Ren did not need to touch her radial artery to feel her pulse.
Each beat was clear and strong.
After a dozen steps, their stiff movements gave way to a newfound fluidity.
The awkwardness melted away and they moved in sync to their seats.
A problem appeared before Zheng Ren.
