After a string of curses, Chu Dazhuang, perhaps exhausted from his tirade, stood there panting heavily.
It seemed that the alcohol had a role in making Chu Dazhuang's emotions so agitated.
On the ground, Zheng Qingrong was still lying there, her face filled with shock, but deeper in her eyes, aside from shock, there seemed to be something else.
That thing seemed a bit odd. Her heart didn't feel sad, angry, or wrathful because of Chu Dazhuang's slap. Instead, there was a bit of excitement, even anticipation.
It was as if she had longed for this moment and had finally been granted it by Chu Dazhuang.
That slap left Zheng Qingrong somewhat dazed.
But that slap seemed to have some kind of magic power, lingering in Zheng Qingrong's heart, refusing to dissipate.
She even had a craving for that peculiar sensation.
