Fu Jinghen saw Wen Qiao almost raising three fingers to the sky, as if to swear an oath, and couldn't help but chuckle. He nodded and turned to leave the room.
By the time Wen Qiao finished washing up and went downstairs, Fu Jinghen was already seated at the dining table.
His white shirt fit him perfectly, his hair was meticulously combed, and he sat with his legs crossed, scrolling through something on his iPad with an indifferent expression. He exuded an air of detachment— the epitome of a chaste noble gentleman.
Wen Qiao stood at the top of the stairs, eyeing the man and letting out a small sigh of admiration before shuffling down the stairs in her slippers.
"Lift your feet when you walk."
Wen Qiao stopped in her tracks and looked up, only to see Fu Jinghen still engrossed in his iPad, his head not moving an inch.
"..."
Damn it!
