Autumn day, clear night.
Fang Qingyuan was sitting in a wicker chair with a glass of milk in her hand, looking at the moon with a sweet and thoughtful look on her face amidst the fragrance of osmanthus brought by the night wind.
"What does it feel like to like someone?"
"Ahem..."
A mouthful of wine choked Shi Minghao's throat.
What does she mean?
Could it be that she saw that he was interested in her...?
Wrong...
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