Chen Rong had lived as a maiden in both lifetimes. All she really knew was that she was not herself right now. She seemed to want him to do something. She wished he would meld her into him, she wished… She didn’t dare to think more.
Wang Hong reached out to support her.
Tenderly, he looked down and concernedly asked, “Do you feel unwell, Ah Rong? Why is your face so red? Your body is feverish too.”
His eyes were too kind and caring! Translated by the ham ster master.
Though she had been a lady of boudoir confines, and had never been told of anything by anybody, she knew well enough what was causing her abnormal reaction.
Instantly, her face flushed from her ears to her neck.
She hastily turned and scooted away. Mortified with herself, she turned her back to him, lowered her head and said, “Aye, I’m feeling unwell. I might have caught a cold.”
She heard the sound of pouring liquid.
She turned her head in surprise.
She saw Wang Hong smiling – beads of frost adhering on his skin. With his head bowed, he was now filling two cups with wine.
His movements were graceful and his smile was elegant. They were the grace of the privileged and the elegance of one who did not know of life’s turmoils.
Chen Rong lifted her head and dazedly looked at him, startlingly finding that she was slowly falling deeper… If there was ever a love that could humble a woman to a speck of dust, then it was because she loved this man, she thought.
If loving Ran Min had made her feel hopeless, then loving this man was making her feel small.
Slowly, Chen Rong dropped her gaze and placed her hand on her chest.