This spring snow came at an inopportune time. The temperature wasn't that low; Yi Zhuo always kept hand warmers in his pocket. He would rub them to heat them up and stick them together to warm Chang Xuyu's hands, but her hands were already very warm now, especially when she cried—all her blood boiled, her cheeks and ears flushed, her face like an apple.
Yi Zhuo pressed his lips together and put the warmers back in his pocket.
Xu Jia and Dai Yeye didn't dare say anything either; they understood perfectly well.
This man must be Xuyu's husband, Yi Zhuo.
They had only heard a rough outline of Yi Zhuo's story from Yuan Zixu just now, but they didn't expect to meet him in person so soon.
Preview