He closed the door, Ji Chicheng grasped Ji Anning by her upper arms, pulling her close to him, and with a turn, he pressed her against the wall; then he lowered his head to look at her.
His deep, black eyes, unblinking, were flashing a sinister light.
Simply being stared at like this made Ji Anning feel as though her heart would leap out of her chest, daring not to meet his gaze directly.
Timidly, her thick lashes quivered like butterfly wings, "Uncle, what are you doing?"
Her voice was very small, like the hum of a mosquito.
As she asked, she knew she was pretending to be naive, and the affectation was strong.
Their heart-racing position and the romantic atmosphere surely couldn't just be about discussing life and dreams.
Not long ago, they had enacted the same scene in the sanatorium's stairwell, the breath shared just the same.
"You don't know?" Ji Chicheng raised an eyebrow, "Then let me tell you."
