His hand reached out, with long fingers, clearly defined joints, and a broad palm with fascinating lines in the middle. Xia Siyu didn't need to hesitate and placed her hand directly on it.
The lighting was dim, and the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the dim light. That song, along with the leisurely fragrance of the wine, spread out, and the lyrics seemed to echo his current thoughts, perfectly resonating with Xia Siyu:
She-may-be-the-face-I-can't-forget. She may have the face I can't forget.
A-trace-of-pleasure-I-regret. A trace of pleasure I regret.
May-be-my-treasure-or-the-price-I-have-to-pay. Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She-may-be-the-song-that-Summer-sings. She may be the short song of summer.
May-be-the-chill-that-autumn-brings. Maybe the autumn wind.
May-be-a-hundred-different-things. Maybe a hundred different things...
