Feng Fuce leaned against the side of the carriage, silent for a moment.
After a while, he suddenly asked, "Earlier was thrilling, Uncle Chang almost fell, but it seems like some force prevented it."
Feng Fuce softly asked, "Was that your doing?"
Zhi'er was happily eating pastries when she heard him, and the little one paused quietly.
She turned to look at Feng Fuce, blinking her innocent big eyes.
"Brother Fu Ce, what are you talking about? I don't understand."
"Don't understand?" Feng Fuce's eyes were dark, like a dangerous sea: "Zhi'er, you possess spells."
He stated this as a certainty, not as a question.
Zhi'er's long eyelashes fluttered: "I don't know spells! Brother Fu Ce, you must have seen wrong."
Feng Fuce sneered: "Really?"
He suddenly reached out his hand and pulled Zhi'er into his arms.
Then, Feng Fuce's palm directly pressed against her spine at the back.
He gently tilted his head, his sharp nose grazed Zhi'er's tender cheek.
