On the way back.
"Wang Donghua's skill is too tragic to go back to," Li Qianxia said, three parts sympathy, seven parts schadenfreude.
"Maybe he could hand knead the internet," Li Changzhou quipped, two parts sympathy, eight parts schadenfreude.
"More like a spider web," Miss Yang said emotionlessly.
"Spider web..." Li Qianxia immediately burst into laughter from the back seat, holding her stomach in pain, flashed her abs in a way that could make women shout "big sis," "hug," "First off, I don't like girls, but can I sleep with you for a night, big sis?"
At the red light, Li Changzhou slowly pressed the brakes and glanced at Yang Qinglan in the passenger seat.
Yang Qinglan looked back at him puzzled—What are you looking at?
Li Changzhou raised an eyebrow; there wasn't a specific meaning, just mingling various senses around the central idea of "looking at my wife."
Yang Qinglan pursed her petal-like lips and turned to look out the window.
—I don't believe in fate.
