She couldn't really see Wang Jingyuan expression from where she was crouched beneath the wooden rack. Her vision was limited—she could only see the outline of his frame lit faintly by the moonlight: his lean waist, his back straight, and his hands slack at his sides like they were just waiting… waiting for something to snap.
Lu Qingyan swallowed hard.
A second ago, she'd been worrying about him, irrationally so.
She had lived in this novel world long enough to start forgetting the truth—that this boy, this quiet and expressionless boy, was the same person who once beat a man bloody just because he got stared at the wrong way.
She should have known better.
Her breath caught when she saw him casually roll his wrists. No tension, no words. Just that subtle twist of his bones like he was loosening himself up for a warm-up stretch, not a fight.
Lu Qingyan eyes widened in the darkness.
The first man who stumbled into the narrow alley barely had time to register the threat.
