Song Qingshu outside the door wore an even stranger expression. Zhao Min had been born into Mongol aristocracy and raised on the grasslands. From childhood, she had eaten beef and drunk mare's milk, receiving nourishment far beyond what Han Chinese women could compare to. Having grown up on horseback and exercised often, her figure was exceptionally fit—especially that pair of ample breasts.
Though she had always bound them tightly beneath her clothes, their full shape was still clearly extraordinary at a glance. Song Qingshu recalled accidentally brushing against her chest several times before. He had never deliberately measured them, but they had to be at least a D cup.
"Oh dear, oh dear. People as lacking in sense as they are in breasts really are hopelessly perverse." Zhao Min's voice rang out again, and Song Qingshu's face darkened. That taunt... was a perfect score.
Sure enough, clattering sounds of fighting soon came from inside, though they ended quickly. Then Zhou Zhiruo's voice rang out with a hint of satisfaction. "Oh dear, oh dear. No matter which one it is, it really is big and useless."
Song Qingshu wiped away a cold sweat. Zhao Min might have been clever and resourceful, but her martial prowess was far inferior to Zhou Zhiruo's. After thinking it over, he decided it was better not to go in for the moment.
"Let go of me!" Zhao Min snapped, embarrassed and furious.
"I won't. Bite me if you can." Zhou Zhiruo's laugh was full of smug delight.
"What are you so proud of, you washboard?" Zhao Min cursed angrily.
Zhou Zhiruo immediately flew into a rage. "What did you call me, you fat pig?"
"I said you're an ugly freak!" Zhao Min seemed completely unconcerned about provoking her further.
"You milk-producing old hag!" A flush of