The long-haired girl sitting on the railing suddenly lowered one hand and extended it toward her, as if to touch her face—no, more accurately, to lift her own chin with her hand, just like the standard flirty gesture of a playboy teasing peasant girls in TV dramas.
"Ah, sorry."
Lin Xingjie seemed to realize this was highly inappropriate, hastily withdrawing her hand.
"What, what's wrong?"
Do I really have something on my face? Zhu Qingyue was genuinely beginning to wonder, unable to resist touching her own cheek.
"I just think that you really look like a porcelain doll."
Lin Xingjie smiled.
"You see, your bangs are cut so neatly, as if measured with a ruler, and your eyebrows, lashes, look like they are groomed every day, everything appears so delicate. But most importantly, it's the smile on your face... It's really particularly perfect; I doubt there's anyone who would dislike a girl showing such a smile."
"Um, thanks for the compliment?"
