Sitting down, he would often unconsciously touch his forehead or cheekbone, and when he stood, his hands would just naturally slip into his pockets, yet he exuded an air of composure and relaxation as if it were innate to his very being.
His arms were long, his wrists the perfect circumference, neither femininely delicate nor completely masculinely rugged, but rather distinct in their joints, slim and graceful with prominent veins, cool and pale.
When he touched his forehead or slipped his hands into his pockets, his arms would form a natural curve, appearing careless and languidly at ease.
If someone with shorter arms tried to imitate that pose, it tended to come across as a rigid line, the effect feeling forced and contrived.
So much so, that after seeing such poise in Wen Yangzhi, when she later saw others with similar gestures, she couldn't help but think they were imitating him.
But not a single person could pull it off as appealingly as Wen Yangzhi.
