The slender legs wrapped in black stockings elegantly tense with her kneeling pose, subtly revealing a honey-colored glow, the lines becoming increasingly captivating.
Her hands slowly caress his knees, the palms cool as if carrying a current.
Lin Muxue lowers her gaze, begins showcasing her talent, deliberately switching her report to English.
Sunlight streams through the porthole, casting golden beams in the air, tiny dust particles quietly dancing within them.
Misty and dreamy.
Xue's report, sometimes clear, sometimes murmured, intertwines with the roar of the aircraft engines.
Tang Song's fingertips weave through her honey-colored strands, gently stroking, with movements tender and encouraging.
Just then.
"Ding dong—" the WeChat notification sounded, and Tang Song's phone vibrated in his pocket.
He took out his phone and glanced at it, raising an eyebrow slightly.
[Jing: "Birthday invitation"]
Tang Song chuckled, opening the electronic invitation.
