Fu Jinghen smiled and obediently withdrew his gaze.
Lin Luang set up his easel on the balcony and asked Wen Qiao to choose a comfortable posture to maintain, then he began his painting journey.
The climate in Jiang City was pleasant in late September, and the afternoon sun was warm on the skin but not scorching.
Wen Qiao leaned at an angle on the lounge chair, one hand propping her head, the other casually resting in front of her, eyes fixed on the iPad placed on the small round table before her.
Sitting still was too boring, and she couldn't chat with Lin Luang, for fear of distracting him.
She couldn't chat with Fu Jinghen either, although he was usually laconic, sometimes the pearls of wisdom he dropped could choke someone, and she would have to pick up the pieces if he wounded the young lad's tender heart.
So, Wen Qiao found a movie to pass the time.
However, she seemed to have underestimated the magnetic field generated by two men under the same roof.
