Her chest was suddenly pressed without warning by someone; no one had ever dared to do such a thing before. Wen Yangzhi stared at her with drooping eyelids, his gaze cold enough to chill the bone.
But she was oblivious to the hint, her hand not moving away, and it even looked like she intended to keep pressing.
Wen Yangzhi finally spoke, his face expressionless, "Eighty."
She was confused for a moment, "What eighty?"
"Bench press." He did not want to say another word.
She finally understood and exclaimed with admiration in her eyes, "Brother is more impressive than I thought; no wonder Brother could carry me into the Jing Building."
Still failing to read the room, her hand remained on his chest.
Wen Yangzhi reached out, grabbed her hand, and moved it away from his body:
"How long do you intend to bring up something from six years ago?"
Her focus was solely on him, and she deliberately pretended to be rueful to provoke him:
