Ming Ye's hands were almost identical to Jiang Xuecheng's. They were long and porcelain white, and their joints were thin and distinct. They looked just like the hands of a pianist.
However, no matter how similar they were, Ming Ye was not Jiang Xuecheng.
She would never mistake someone else for Jiang Xuecheng.
However, Su Wan was a little surprised that Ming Ye would be so frivolous. She subconsciously wanted to withdraw her hand, but Ming Ye made a silent gesture at her with his other hand.
Ming Ye's expression was very serious. His pair of bewitching emerald eyes, which could suck people in at any time, quietly looked at Su Wan.
Su Wan immediately realized the seriousness of the matter.
She was about to ask a question, but she felt that Ming Ye began to write on her hand.
Ming Ye's finger swept across her palm. There was not the slightest hint of longing, and his handsome face was cold and gloomy.
