Hearing the footsteps approaching nearby, Ye Jiuliang's lips curled slightly.
A hand as cold as porcelain jade reached from behind, enveloping her with an icy breath.
Ye Jiuliang suddenly turned her face and caught his hand, her fingertips quivered slightly, and colorless, tasteless powder spread into the air.
Li Mochan was caught off guard, his grip relaxed gradually, and his tall figure uncontrollably crashed down.
So heavy.
Ye Jiuliang cast her eyes down at the person who had collapsed onto her and pushed him away with her hand.
Li Mochan lay on the bed with his eyes tightly shut, the usual coldness in his gaze nowhere to be seen.
Ye Jiuliang sat up, looked down, and his handsome face came into view; she extended her hand to touch his cheek.
Her fingertips glided across his eyebrows and eyes, naughtily pinching his cheek.
"Li Mochan, you scoundrel, dare to forget me, tell me, aren't you asking for a beating?"
