Zhao Yihan was eighteen years old, blessed with a delicate and beautiful face and a tall, sexy figure that was shapely and fully matured, with curves in all the right places.
Her skin was pale, tender as if one could squeeze water from it, radiating the vibrant youthfulness of a young girl, with bright, sparkling, and animated eyes.
She wore a white blouse paired with a pleated skirt, sexy yet fashionable.
I found myself somewhat entranced.
In high school, she was the most beautiful flower in our class, and across the whole school, she was of school belle caliber.
Like many of the boys in our class, I would also secretly watch her, fantasizing about her.
But that was all in my head, because I was aware of my standing. How could a school belle like her ever fancy a poor village boy like me? Even the ordinary girls paid me no mind.
