Even like a startled kitten, she still looked so adorable.
Even when she was angry, countless flowers still seemed to bloom in her eyes—
Flowers of fury, flowers of vigilance, flowers of fear. Her whole being was like mist, like clouds, and like wind—elusive and impossible to fathom, neither wholly real nor wholly unreal.
Any man who saw her like this would probably be unable to stay angry, much less lose his temper at her.
Yet Yan Hui frowned at that moment.
He stared fixedly into the girl's eyes—watching Wen Yinger on the windowsill in a daze.
It seemed he had truly been poisoned.
How was that possible? How could his body, immune to every poison, possibly be poisoned?
A faint stabbing pain spread from his chest, as though something were creeping through his blood vessels, cold and slow, eroding his body bit by bit.
Watching Yan Hui, Wen Yinger bit her lip and said, "You've been poisoned. Shouldn't you be kneeling and begging me right now? Instead, you're asking who I am? Are you a pig?"
Pain showed on Yan Hui's face, and a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, but he still did not move.
He merely replied coldly, "You're overthinking it."
Wen Yinger said again, "You know what I'm thinking?"
Staring into her eyes, Yan Hui barked out each word, "What you're thinking, I don't want to know! All I know now is that beautiful women must be poisonous!"
Wen Yinger blushed.
By all rights, she was not a girl who blushed easily.
She had seen blood, killed people, and walked blade's edges as though on level ground. Yet at that moment, Yan Hui's words pierced some soft place in her heart like a needle.
At that moment, she too looked into Yan Hui's eyes.
She