Yang Fan's inner self was deep in a severe conflict between his desires and his conscience.
Meanwhile, the tender 'golden valley' of Yang Yuan, sealed tight yet glistening with moisture, kept rubbing against his chin incessantly, showing no signs of stopping.
Under such soft and silky friction, his rationality was steadily suppressed.
So, he took the gamble.
He reached his hand down and pulled apart the flimsy white piece covering Yang Yuan, unveiling the golden valley completely in front of him.
At the age of eighteen, so tender that not even the hairs had fully developed, he looked at it and saw not a strand out of place, only some fuzzy hairs tinged with gleaming sweat, adorably pink and utterly tempting, almost igniting Yang Fan's blood in an instant.
Yang Yuan was eighteen, her body developed far beyond her peers.
But here, it seemed somewhat behind her peers.
Yang Fan could clearly hear his heart pounding in his throat, thumping non-stop.
