Twenty-eight-year-old Zhang Jin can steadily step on seven-centimeter high heels, sip champagne in one hand, and lightly lift her skirt with the other, chatting and laughing with the elites in a calm manner.
"Brother Zhu, have you returned home after the competition?"
"It's not very clear that I haven't called you in the past few days..."
Before Qing Lingling's voice fell, she met the protagonist's eyes as clean as a child. The eighteen-year-old Zhang Jin liked these clean and affectionate eyes the most, but the twenty-eight-year-old Zhang Jin inexplicably wanted to run away.
In the dream, my eighteen-year-old self shouted "Zhu Zhu~" in a soft voice to the boy sitting behind the car.
"What's the matter?"