A playful glint suddenly appeared in the eyes of the person on the bed. He feigned curiosity and asked, “What’s your name?”
Qingmeng wasn’t even sure it was him. Hearing him ask that only convinced her it wasn’t, so she replied coolly, “Qingmeng.”
The amusement in Zhi Ye’s eyes deepened. “Qingmeng, huh...”
He drew out the final syllable, leaving room for the imagination and giving his words an inexplicable air of intimacy. “My name is Xinghe.”
Qingmeng didn’t understand. I didn’t ask your name. “???”
Then she caught on. The way he’d drawn out that syllable left plenty of room for interpretation, and a line of poetry came to mind: “A bedful of dreams of Qingmeng presses down upon Xinghe.”
He was clearly teasing her. Flustered and angry, she snapped, “Get lost!”
To her surprise, the person before her burst out laughing. “Hahaha... Little girl, we haven’t seen each other in years and you don’t recognize me anymore? Hmm?” When he finished laughing, he looked at her with burning eyes, filled with endless longing.
