He opened his eyes to look at her, the woman's small face turned to the side, her head bowed down.
With two slender fingers, he forcibly turned her delicate chin, making her face him.
Dew gathered on her large, glossy eyes, creating a layer of crystal-clear mist; even her long eyelashes were dotted with dewdrops, trembling like the wings of a butterfly, yet they refused to fall, pitifully endearing.
She was about to cry.
Huangfu Yueming's tall figure suddenly tensed, and for some reason, he felt as though a sharp needle had thrust deep into his heart, causing him a great deal of pain.
"What's... wrong?" His voice was hoarse, laced with pity and softness that he himself didn't even notice.
Mi Yao looked at him, then spoke, "My hand hurts."
Huangfu Yueming quickly released her slender wrist.
Mi Yao moved a couple of steps to the side, distancing herself from him.
The atmosphere became awkward in an instant.
