Mu Qiu's gaze lowered, landing on that beautiful hand on the iron-gray sofa.
Then slowly, slowly, her own hand slid over and grasped one of his fingers.
Cheng Zhirang watched her actions all along, a smile hung on his lips, and when she grabbed his ring finger, he flipped his hand and held hers firmly.
Mu Qiu paused for a moment and looked up.
"Do you think my hand is beautiful?" he asked gently.
Mu Qiu nodded, not bashful at all, her hand still held down on the sofa, she started to shower compliments again.
"Clean, slender, distinct knuckles, fair, it's practically the hand of a leading man."
"A leading man?" To a thirty-year-old man who barely reads novels outside of scripts, this was a novel concept, "What else does a leading man require?"
Upon this, Mu Qiu perked up.
"A face that defies the heavens, an awesome physique, high IQ, preferably with a cool demeanor towards others, like a High Peak Snow, occasionally a bit cunning."
