When Lin Huanhuan took the roasted meat, she noticed that Sang Ye's fingers were burned.
He must have accidentally burned himself while roasting the meat.
"Your hand—"
Sang Ye looked down at his fingertips and said indifferently, "I was burned."
His tone was very calm, as though he was not the one who had been burned. He did not care at all.
Lin Huanhuan asked, "Does it hurt?"
"I don't feel anything."
Sang Ye sat far away from the fire. He tore the remaining raw meat into pieces, put them in his mouth, and ate slowly.
It was clearly a barbaric move, but it looked exceptionally elegant and calm when he did it.
Lin Huanhuan looked at him in a daze. "Don't you like cooked meat?"
"I don't like hot things."
Lin Huanhuan subconsciously looked at the fire. "The fire is hot…"
"I don't like fire."
"But you were roasting meat on the fire?"
