The restaurant played soothing music, a stark contrast to the fiery red dishes on every table. The diners were warm and spicy all over, and those who loved Sichuan cuisine naturally enjoyed themselves.
The man before her was exceptionally cold, eating with a blank expression. He seemed able to withstand the heat, but never once praised the flavor of the dishes.
Jian Shufan watched Yi Zhuo casually, her elbow on the table, her hand supporting her pretty, gentle face, her lips curved in a smile.
This man had outstanding features. From her angle, his jaw and chin formed a smooth angle. His short hair was sharp, his eating manner refined. Though he often frowned, his every move still bore grace and composure.
He seemed to have some kind of magic that made her keep stopping to look at him, unable to resist.
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