"Aunt Wang really does favor you," came a voice that was neither salty nor bland. Zhou Lin, who had been in the living room, appeared at the kitchen door, arms folded, leaning against the door frame, his eyes half-closed as he looked at Cheng Zhiwei.
He had been there for a while, but Cheng Zhiwei only had eyes for the chicken soup and hadn't noticed him.
Of course, he saw Cheng Zhiwei squinting her eyes in satisfaction while enjoying the chicken soup, a content smile curving her lips, her demeanor as lazy as a cat's.
As she moved, her shawl playfully slid down from one shoulder, revealing a half-exposed, round, fair shoulder beneath it. In the white light of the kitchen, it was dazzlingly bright, striking straight into his heart's softest spot.
Cheng Zhiwei set the bowl down and pulled the shawl back up to cover her shoulder before turning to leave.
Not even sparing Zhou Lin a glance.
