Yuan Heng didn't speak, but he tilted his little head up even higher.
His fair little face was glistening with sweat, and his dark eyes were fixed on her, unblinking.
Ji Qingwu held back a laugh and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead and the tip of his nose.
In the sunlight, her profile was lovely, and her fine hair fluttered, as if wreathed in rosy clouds.
As she gently wiped his face, Yuan Heng's eyes grew brighter and brighter. He couldn't bear to look away. He wanted to get closer, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot.
When Ji Qingwu finished, she found it strange. The skin she had touched on Yuan Heng's face was beginning to flush, but her handkerchief was made of soft, absorbent silk floss. It shouldn't have chafed his skin.
Yuan Heng's entire little face was flushed pink, a few shades redder than it was after his sword practice. This blended with his forced indifference and the faint, defiant look in his eyes.
