A young girl wearing a golden peach blossom gauze dress, hands on her hips, glared at the boy in front of her with displeasure.
The other party was dressed in a black robe embroidered with gold-threaded clouds and had an unfriendly look in his eyes.
Neither would give in.
When paths cross, the boldest wins.
Huanhuan kept a stern face and didn't even blink as she spoke, "Well, here you are pestering Qinglian again. Haven't I told you already? Qinglian doesn't like your type. You're dreaming if you think you stand a chance."
Zhao Yi, with his eyebrows sharp like swords and an imposing appearance, had a hint of aggression in his expression, which fleetingly turned gloomy before vanishing.
He steadied himself and said clearly, "I respect you as Qinglian's friend. Holding onto grudges from years ago and constantly clashing with words doesn't seem fitting for a noble lady."
