Undeniably, Rong Ling's words struck Song Qingge's weak point with ruthless precision; her pride was nothing in comparison to losing Leng Youchen.
She bit her teeth, turned around, walked to the van, pulled open the door, and sat inside.
Wei Anning saw Song Qingge return and couldn't help but pull a long face. The girl just couldn't give up. She glanced at the man beside her, only to find him resting with closed eyes, seemingly unaffected by the outside world.
She was half-dead with anger. The man was simply a piece of fragrant honeycomb that attracted countless bees and butterflies wherever he went. In a fit of pique, she poked his cheek with her hand.
Leng Youchen opened his eyes; his gaze landed darkly on her pretty face, red-lipped and fair-skinned. She wore braided hair, obediently lying in the nape of her neck, with fluffy stray hairs sticking to her down jacket, itching his heart unbearably.
