Zhong Qiaohui's face twitched involuntarily.
"Go ahead, is there anything you want to say to me, my bride?" Zhang Yingxi's hand rested on her face, gently stroking it.
Zhong Qiaohui desperately swallowed back the sourness rising to her throat.
Zhang Yingxi seemed unaware of her expression, muttering to himself, "Right, the one who suddenly asked at the wedding if you were willing to marry me, he's your friend, isn't he?"
Hearing him mention Zhang Sanfeng, Zhong Qiaohui frowned.
Zhang Yingxi smiled, "What's the matter, is that cripple on your mind?"
"Don't call him a cripple. He's not a cripple!" Zhong Qiaohui said, raising her eyes to meet his. The anger in her eyes was clear, for whom those words were spoken.
The light in Zhang Yingxi's eyes slowly dimmed. His gentle actions caressing her cheek gradually stiffened, then suddenly one hand grasped her throat.
