Lu Man could not help but reprimand herself. Since she did not agree to Han Zhuoli's advances and appeared so indifferent, she should not be entertaining such thoughts.
Even she looked down on herself.
She struggled to suppress her disappointment, telling herself that since she had made a choice, she should not regret it.
Being afraid of getting hurt, yet reluctant to let go, was something she should not do.
After much effort, she finally cooled her head. Yet, Han Zhuoli suddenly held onto her hand.
Compared to his, her hand appeared even smaller.
Her entire palm was almost enclosed within his. The heat from his palm sealed off the cool wind in this autumn night, making Lu Man feel warmer than she had ever felt.
Han Zhuoli lowered his hand. His hand was as pale as jade. Each finger was distinct and long. They were beautiful.
