It felt a little rough, not as smooth as a woman's chin.
Ji Qingwu's luminous eyes were fixed on him, her delicate fingertip still resting on the side of his face. She seemed to be studying his reaction, trying to judge whether he was in pain.
Her full, red lips drew ever closer.
Emperor Wu Su tilted his head down slightly, his gaze fixed on her.
Ji Qingwu's hair had been tied up high this morning, which, along with her crimson riding habit, gave her a dashing, heroic air. But after the day's ordeal, the hairdo had come loose and was now disheveled.
After being pulled onto Emperor Wu Su's galloping horse, several strands had slipped loose from her temples. They now framed her face, making her look all the more delicate and lovely.
As she spoke, a few stray locks of hair drifted onto her lips and clung there.
Emperor Wu Su raised a hand and tucked the mischievous strand behind her ear.
