Fu Yihan shot her a glare but didn't say a word.
Su Qingnuan didn't dare meet his eyes, quickly retracting her gaze and lowering her head to look at her palms.
Her fair and delicate hands were turned over and over by Su Qingnuan as she examined them, until the car came to a stop.
"Still looking?" Fu Yihan sneered. "Are your hands sprouting flowers?"
"...No."
"Still not getting out of the car?"
"Yes."
So it turned out, the brief moment of warmth earlier was all her imagination. Fu Yihan was still the same Fu Yihan.
With Ah Qi's help, Su Qingnuan pushed Fu Yihan's wheelchair and headed inside.
The old master was seated in the living room, his posture upright, brows knitted tightly together.
Su Qingnuan slowed her pace, calmly gazing ahead.
"Fu Yihan."
The stern call—it was exactly as she expected.
Su Qingnuan came to a halt and turned to look at Fu Yihan.
He, on the other hand, showed no change in expression and quietly stared in the old master's direction.
"What is it?"
