"Mo Shangjun, you are my glory."
One word at a time, the tone was firm, full of strength.
Mo Shangjun's body stiffened slightly.
The moment the voice fell on her ears, it was like the heart palpitations when a budding flower blooms, full and soft, with a warm current uncontrollably overflowing, difficult to restrain.
You are my faith.
I am your glory.
Mo Shangjun's mood was as soft as clouds wrapped in sugar, gently and softly tinged with sweetness.
Thump thump, the sound of her heartbeat was even more intense than during the gunfire and shelling of aiming and shooting.
Even Mo Shangjun herself was surprised that she would have such a reaction from just one sentence.
His chest was hard, but the embrace was warm, like a perfect interpretation of a tender and tough man.
"Have I made you proud?" Mo Shangjun asked.
"Yeah," Ya Tianxing lightly rubbed his nose against the side of her neck, his voice rich and low, "my little pride, no one can compare to you."
