Weisheng Yueren squinted his eyes, savoring the feeling of the beauty in his arms, his fingers stroking her long hair, feeling the smooth locks weaving through his fingertips, stirring his heart. He couldn't help but play with it, and found himself marveling at how her skin was so tender that it seemed it could be pinched and water would come out, and even her hair was so fine, it surely didn't need a comb.
After a while, Qinghe finally lifted her head and, with a disgruntled air, punched his shoulder, "What are you doing, fooling around? You must have hurt yourself." Hiding in the room, ambushing her as if practicing his skills, he must have tasted his own medicine. Just now, she thought she heard him gasp, and considering the table nearby, she guessed he must have hit the corner of it.
