As he muttered to himself, Zhang Ming discovered that his body had started moving on its own.
Like a thief, he tiptoed into the room-this was something that had happened in his memories.
Zhang Ming extended his index finger and flicked his younger sister's collagen-plump cheek as she did her homework. With a "pew," a red spot appeared. It felt pretty good; her cheek was wonderfully springy.
Ahem. A middle schooler, a girl who would only start eighth grade in the second half of the year, a fourteen-year-old minor-she really was not cute at all.
Compared with his girlfriend, anyway, she was not pretty in the slightest. Bad-tempered, too, and not cute.
"What are you doing?!" Younger Sister fiercely brushed away Zhang Ming's groping hand, her curved eyebrows drawing together as she bared her teeth.
"Lend me some money!" Zhang Ming said.
His younger sister was stunned, her eyes widening as she instinctively protected her pink wallet. Her precious private savings were inside.
She was like a mother cat protecting her kittens, her whole body arching.
Zhang Ming, meanwhile, was utterly shameless, whistling and happily wiggling his backside. So he had already been mentally ill back in high school!
Come to think of it, why did girls get more pocket money than boys?
That was a big question.
It might have had something to do with their parents' belief in "raising sons poor and daughters rich." In any case, his younger sister had always received more pocket money than he did.
"No way! If I lend it to you, you might not pay me back!" Her voice grew shrill as she righteously refused.
"When have I ever not paid you back? Besides, I need it for something. Buying milk tea, seeing a movie." Zhang Ming begged in a thoroughly servile