"....." Mu Qingtong's beautiful eyes remained calm, yet her pupils, golden as Golden Lake, gradually dimmed as if dark currents surged beneath the surface.
She was not angry.
Really, she was not angry at all.
The strong were not defined by time; a moment's victory or defeat, strength or weakness meant nothing.
"Crap, just need more practice—mm—mm—"
Xia Feng's attempt at bravado was cut short as the woman in the black dress sealed his words with her red lips. Miss Mu's movements were somewhat rough, their warm breath intermingled, and as their nostrils collided, Xia Feng felt his lips sting with pain.
In the midst of the silent battlefield, silver hair danced in the wind.
Strands of silver hair struck Xia Feng's face, sticking to the thin lips of both. Xia Feng, angered by the kiss, began to fight back!
*
