"Is that pouch for me? Last time, didn't you say you weren't going to make me a pouch and would make me a custom scent instead?"
"You said that, not me."
Zhao Jing chuckled softly. His clear, youthful voice was laced with deep amusement, and the sound washed over Chen Wanqing, making it hard for her to maintain a serious expression.
"Did my miserable crying make you take pity on me and decide to make me a pouch after all? I want the pouch, but I want the custom scent too. Qing'er, you promised. You can't go back on your word."
Chen Wanqing couldn't resist turning to give him a light glare. "Don't be so greedy. You need to know when to stop."
"Am I asking for too much? I don't think so. It's still not as much as you give De'an."
