With a creak, the door opened.
The first thing An Yang noticed was the gentle feminine fragrance permeating the room, carrying Ji Weiwei's scent, faint and very comfortable. Next came the intoxicating glow emitted by the single bedside lamp, which could hardly be called bright; on the contrary, the dim orange light seemed naturally imbued with romantic elements, carrying a delicate ambiguity and a voluptuousness that easily made one intoxicated.
Only after that did he notice Ji Weiwei, sitting at the head of the bed waiting for him like a bride on her wedding night.
She wore a pale red silk pajama top with a somewhat artistic flair, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her frame was slender, showing a stiffness that was obvious at a glance, just short of holding up a sign with the words "nervous" written on it.
An Yang's lips felt a little dry as he walked into the room, casually closing the door behind him and stepping closer to her step by step. "Is it necessary to be this stiff sitting on your own bed? Anyone who didn't know would think I just carried you back to be my bandit queen!"
Ji Weiwei had been turned sideways to him, presenting him with nothing but her slender shoulders and the delicate profile of her face. Only upon hearing his words did she turn slightly to glare at him.
This single glance was brimming with myriad charms, revealing her pretty and intensely artistic face—that of fair and exquisite features, with soft yet distinct contours. Under the illumination of the dim light, her skin presented a fine, creamy texture, resembling white jade. Set off by the faint fragrance and in this slightly dizzying environment, this forced-up spirit of a glance was extraordinarily stunning.
Ji