The atmosphere of the banquet was more relaxed than Murong Qiao had imagined.
An Nuo was chatting with her friend Shu Qiao. It seemed like the two of them had not seen each other for a long time.
Murong Qiao held a wine glass in her hand and swept her cold and distant gaze across the crowd of the banquet, noticing the protagonist of this banquet.
"Han Peibai," she said his name softly.
He had a refined appearance. Perhaps it was because he had studied abroad that he had a more elegant and unrestrained temperament. Therefore, many people's first impression of him was that he was a romantic poet, and he had the noble and aristocratic feeling of a young master.
Han Peibai stood in the crowd. His movements were elegant and graceful. Just from the happy expressions of the young ladies around him, one could tell how popular he was.
As if sensing Murong Qiao's sized up gaze, Han Peibai looked in her direction.
