"Why did you do this?" Ye Qinglan shrank into the sedan chair and asked inexplicably.
Appearing like this at her wedding, wouldn't she want to grab a kiss? Is he such a naive person?
He Liancheng didn't give her a chance to back down. He stretched out his long arms, took her out of the sedan chair, hugged her shoulders tightly, and whispered in her ear: "What do you think? If I don't come, are you planning to marry Murong Jing like this?"
Although this was a reproach, it sounded very intimate, and it also contained a bit of grievance, like a murmur between lovers. The warm breath blew on Ye Qinglan's earlobe, itching and numbness, which made her heart, which has always been known for being cold, tremble involuntarily.
She took a deep breath, barely calmed herself down, and said coldly, "I don't think it has anything to do with you."
