The little girl's eyes were brimming with curiosity, "Are Combat Artisans really that amazing?"
"You can call me Ade," Fang Hong said, sweating profusely, "and who is Miss Atira?"
"Okay, Combat Artisan—no, Mr. Ade," the little girl winked at him playfully, "then as an exchange, you must call me Tianlan."
But she suddenly stopped, her gaze shifting to something behind Fang Hong.
Fang Hong followed her gaze, turning around to find himself enveloped in a massive force. It wasn't that the person hugging him was particularly strong, but their excitement was so intense that it bordered on trembling.
The gentle scent of a woman—subtle as that of laurel—surrounded him.
He felt as though he had collided with a soft wall, a gentle ocean, with a vigorous heart beating underneath. He could even feel the trembling chest through the thick layers of cloth, which made the French girl seem rather trivial in comparison.
