Feng Yueming didn't go in; he lazily leaned against the door frame, watching her sing and dance.
She danced carelessly, performing the social dance's slow foxtrot. Her right leg had healed, allowing her to tip-toe and twirl gracefully. Her black hair and the red hem of her skirt drew a mesmerizing arc in the air. She held her fan-like long eyelashes demurely, looking lazy yet coquettish. Feng Yueming couldn't even bear to blink.
This was likely the beautiful moment he had wished for.
Mi Yao, tired from dancing, felt her legs give way and slid directly onto the floor.
Feng Yueming was startled; he took long strides to help her, but it was too late—Mi Yao had already landed on the soft carpet.
She looked up at the crystal chandelier above, giggling to herself.
Feng Yueming knelt on one knee and reached out his right palm to caress her tender cheek. He curved his lips into a gentle smile, "Mi Yao, what's gotten into you today? Why are you so happy?"
