Leng Youchen was scribbling furiously, but his movements suddenly came to a halt. The sharp pen tip tore an ugly gash across the document, leaving behind a few ink smudges. He lifted his head to glare at her coldly. "Now you think I'm not mature enough?"
Wei Anning was silent.
"Gong Ting is mature. Why don't you go find him?"
Wei Anning knew her tone was wrong. At this moment, she shouldn't be so aggressive; if she continued, it would only lead to a fiercer fight. She held herself back and softened her voice. "Let's stop arguing, okay? Come have dinner with me."
Leng Youchen tossed aside the pen, took out a cigarette, held it in his mouth, and lit it. He stared at her unblinkingly, but his mind was filled with images—those photos, and that moment in the corridor when the two of them had instinctively embraced.
His heart was pierced with a sharp ache.
"I don't have an appetite."
