Yan Sichen looked at the person. It was a female reporter in her twenties.
Out of final courtesy, he smiled at her.
"Qing Qing is an old friend of mine. In my heart, she's my sister."
The female reporter did not expect the truth to be like this. She lowered her head and did not speak.
The crowd fell silent.
Yan Sichen and Ning Qing maintained a suitable distance. It was neither ambiguous nor distant.
He helped her up and asked gently, "Can you walk?"
Ning Qing nodded mechanically, her eyes still colorless.
She took two steps with him, but her steps were unsteady.
Yan Sichen frowned in heartache and could only say, "Qing Qing, blame me when we get back."
Ning Qing's wet eyelashes trembled, but she did not object.
He lowered himself and picked her up.
Amidst the crowd's surprise, he carried her to the backseat of the car. His hand, which had been suppressed for a long time, finally landed on her head.
