Mr. Feng's Delicate Ancestor

“I, Feng Junting, am not a man Miss He can toy with as she pleases. You started this game, and now you don't get to call the shots.” Feng Junting gently stroked the cinnabar mole on He Shi's skin. “I'm in the mood now, and I haven't had my fill. Don't think you can walk away, Miss He.” Feng Junting's eyes held a faint, inscrutable smile. As the sunset streamed through the window, he looked just like the noble, untarnished man who had played piano on the second floor of the club that day. “On that snowy night in Jinbei City, I crashed my car on a treacherous road. I never met you in the snow, and I don't know you, Mr. Feng, now that I'm back in Haicheng. Please let me go.” He Shi should never have presumed to provoke this untouchable man. Feng Junting was a bitter winter wind that suddenly swept into her world. Caught completely off guard, he carried her out of her old, lightless struggle and into the glow of the sunset. To He Shi, he was a calamity, but in truth, he was her salvation.