Feng Yi? Ning Yan had never heard of this person, but with that surname and her attitude just now, she was probably quite close to the Feng Family's Seventh Young Master.
However, this didn't have much to do with him.
Ning Yan rubbed his shoulder where she'd bumped into him, then turned to leave.
The back of his collar was caught in an instant; the girl's deliberately coy voice was extra sweet: "Uncle Ning, take me out first before you say anything, and I'm really cold."
Fourteen-year-old Ning Yan was about the same height as Feng Yi; his clothes fit her perfectly.
The girl looked even older than him, yet she was this clingy.
Ning Yan frowned, wanting to shake her off, but Feng Yi clutched the hem of his clothes in a death grip, looking up at him pitifully. So spoiled!
The two of them stalemated for a while. With no other choice, Ning Yan darkened his face, tugged down the zipper of his white jacket, took it off and handed it to her, saying coldly, "I'll take you out."
