Seeing that Jing Xuan truly seemed uninterested in discussing the murderer, Tang Huai refrained from asking any further questions.
If the killer wasn't Jing Xuan, she felt at ease; why bother asking more?
Better to avoid discussing the murderer within earshot of others, lest word got out that Jing Xuan had been at the crime scene—it would be unfavorable if the news leaked.
Tang Huai lay on the couch with her head on Jing Xuan's thigh.
She didn't know where Jing Xuan had gotten this sofa, which was identical to the one she used in her previous life in the twenty-first century.
Leather, with the best quality sponge inside—soft and very comfortable.
Gu Jiajia adored this sofa; every time she came over, she would sit on it for half a day.
She even nagged Jing Xuan to get her a mattress like this, soft and comfortable, but Jing Xuan ignored her.
Tang Huai looked up at Jing Xuan.
The resolute jawline, the deep contours, the eyes black as ink…
