Wang Miaomiao wore a white semi-high collar lace undershirt, a black fitted blazer on top, blue jeans on the bottom, and five-centimeter leather shoes. As she walked, her movements were graceful, enhanced by the breeze.
She smiled and walked toward Jiang Yan, leaning closer to his lips and whispering softly, "Why are you praising me? What's your ulterior motive? Spill it..."
Jiang Yan smiled wickedly, the dark glow in his eyes deepening, like a vortex, always wanting to pull her soul in and treasure it deeply.
"My motive, don't you already know?"
A rhetorical question, the teasing in his words making her want to punch him.
Thinking so, she went ahead and did it, taking advantage of the time and place.
She raised her fist and playfully punched his chest. But it was like hitting solid iron; he remained unmoved, whereas her small hand got hurt, causing her to momentarily grimace in pain.
Jiang Yan grabbed her tender little hand and gently massaged it, "You..."
