The silver in the girl's hand was piled like a small mountain.
Held up before his eyes, Lin Yao saw it only as provocation.
There was no one around, only the autumn wind passing by, and the startled chirping of birds seemed to mock him.
The man raised an eyebrow. His eyes reflected her head, as hard as a copper pea, as he pressed down hard.
He Ping'an didn't move her head, but her waist bent first. At the same time, she lifted her hands higher, the small silver mountain almost poking his brush tip.
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