"Am I being delicate?" Yao Qing looked at him with icy eyes, "You punish me in a way I dislike, making me remember the pain, torturing my body, and then you call me delicate? Is this your version of liking someone?"
She almost subconsciously clenched her fist, suddenly touching a wound, and a sharp pain shot straight to her temples.
Yu Yanshen watched her clenched fist, the look in his eyes as deep and bottomless as a pot of dense ink.
"Let's assume I was wrong, and let's turn the page, okay?"
Yao Qing stared straight at him, her gaze cold, "Turn the page? Don't say I'm doubting you, but I really think you are using this as an excuse to take revenge on me."
Yu Yanshen silently locked eyes with Yao Qing for a few seconds.
Then he stepped forward.
Bending down, his black hair messily scattered in front of his cold eyes and brows.
