Accompanied by a cold and slow voice, He Chen hadn't even made out who the person was when he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and the next thing he knew, he was thrown to the side.
The embrace emptied, and due to inertia, he stumbled backward repeatedly, hitting the sofa armrest behind him with the back of his knees, and unexpectedly toppled into the sofa.
In this world, the only person who could effortlessly deflect his offensive with a single move was Shang Shaoyan.
He Chen half propped up his body, dumbfoundedly rubbing his face, "Shang Shaoyan, how the hell are you back again?"
As he swore, his gaze sharpened, and his handsome face went through a rapid succession of expressions as if through a revolving lantern.
A few steps away, Shang Shaoyan was holding Li Qiao with a somber aura, his palm cradling the back of her head against his chest, his eyes filled with a severity and coldness that He Chen had never seen before.
