After taking two small bites of each dish she liked, Wen Qiao decided not to eat any more. Just then, the clear stewed old duck soup made its way in front of her. She picked up the soup spoon and began to ladle soup into her bowl.
Soup accidentally splashed onto the back of her hand, causing Wen Qiao to shrink back slightly, her brows instantly furrowing.
Her lips moved slightly as if she were muttering something to herself.
Fu Jinghen noticed this, a glint of amusement crossing his eyes.
His hand, which had been resting on the table, casually dropped down, reaching out to the side.
No one but Fu Jinghen noticed that Wen Qiao's spoon-holding hand paused for two seconds, then she continued to bring the spoon to her mouth.
The man's fingers brushed lightly over the spot where the soup had splashed her, seemingly to provide comfort.
While drinking the soup, Wen Qiao stealthily glanced at Fu Jinghen.
