The hands encircling his waist tightened continuously, bewilderment flickered in Li Mochan's dark pupils.
He raised his hand to touch her head, his fingertips weaving through her hair, as his clear and cold voice spilled from his throat, "What's wrong?"
Was there a problem with those three words?
Ye Jiuliang remained silent, burying her head deeply in his neck, her eyes feeling somewhat sore and swollen.
If only he had regained his memory, that would have been wonderful.
His occasional words often made her feel like he had regained his memory, but in truth, those were all her illusions, and such a psychological gap was really distressing.
Li Mochan furrowed his brows, his fingertips lightly scratching the back of her neck, "Why aren't you speaking?"
Ye Jiuliang turned her head, her lips skewed into a smile on a whim, she proposed, "Let's go to the racecourse this afternoon?"
