Bar.
Ning Xie is sitting at the bar, with six or seven empty glasses already in front of him.
He throws his head back, finishing the cocktail in his hand, then lifts his head again, "Another whisky, please!"
The bartender glances at him, mixes a drink, and hands it over.
Just as he is about to drain the glass, his wrist is suddenly grasped by a delicate hand.
Ning Xie stares at the hand. It's not like those of ordinary girls.
He has seen the hands of countless girls with brightly painted nails, pretty and delicate.
But these hands, these are the ones he wants to hold.
They're fair and clean.
Yet, the palm has faint calluses, the result of years of martial training.
Obviously delicate, but extremely strong.
They prevent him from lifting the glass to his lips.
He tries to resist, but the grip only tightens.
Finally, she extends her other hand, pries his fingers open, and snatches the glass away.
Ning Xie turns around, smiling, "Tong Tong, it's just a drink, you..."
