"Real or fake, what does it have to do with you?" Fengyu said calmly. "There are countless women who admire the young Marquis, like fish in the river. You're carefree and unfettered, never minding others' admiration. What's the point of probing beneath the surface?"
"I don't care about others, but I care about you." Xie Xun noticed that Fengyu's hand was gradually relaxing, her palm starting to unconsciously brush against his skin—provocative, yet oblivious to herself.
His blood surged, rushing hotly through his veins. It was clearly a torment, yet felt like the height of pleasure.
Sweat beaded upon his forehead.
Fengyu found it both laughable and pitiful. In fact, when Xie Xun rode alone to rescue her, racing hundreds of miles, she had felt doubts in her heart. When he shielded her from blades and arrows by the riverside, it left her even more bewildered.
