"You're not delirious, are you?"
Ning Zongjin widened his eyes, incredulously stretching out his hand and feeling Zhang Xuehua's forehead.
The touch was smooth, and the temperature just right—"No fever."
He said, puzzled.
"Snap."
This time, Zhang Xuehua did not hold back, and fiercely slapped the back of his hand, angrily saying, "I'm serious, you better listen carefully."
She was naturally short-tempered, and now with her brows furrowed, Ning Zongjin could only shrink back in silence and listen quietly to what she had to say.
