Jiang Tingxu had stared so hard that her eyes were strained, yet he had no self-awareness at all.
He had a chill demeanor, and his lips had curved into a crescent before he went to the bookshelf at the side and started flipping through one of the books—the hotel had prepared them. They were magazines, which were perfect for killing boredom. The others were romance fiction—Red Rose, White Rose, Love in a Fallen City, Eighteen Springs, etc.
Mo Boyuan was flipping through the pages briefly, and he had quickly lost his interest. Be it love, resentment, intertwining fates, or unspoken feelings, he thought that only women would be fond of this genre, written by women for women. Mo Boyuan was more of an action-adventure or science fiction guy. He rubbed his forehead and asked, "Honey, would you like to read?"
She had finally coaxed Mo Zhining to sleep. "No," she was scowling. "Keep your voice down. He's asleep."
