The sound of the rain outside was as restless as the frantic beating of his heart.
Yuan Shimo was quite accomplished academically, but he was no mere bookworm. His presentation skills at seminars were often praised.
But right now, faced with the girl's soft question, it was as if he'd suddenly lost his eloquent tongue, unsure how to respond.
All he could do was let her pull him down into a seat and gently dry the water from his hair with a soft towel.
The ears hidden beneath his bangs were so red they could have bled.
The atmosphere was exceedingly quiet, but it lacked the strained awkwardness of their initial encounters.
Without realizing it, the distance between them had closed significantly.
As Jiang Qingli was drying his hair, she suddenly asked, curious, "By the way, can your shadow help you blow-dry your hair?"
She was standing behind Yuan Shimo, and as she spoke, she leaned down slightly to ask the question by his ear.
