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... ranslation
Uh—
The living room suddenly became awkward.
Qiao Jing glanced downward toward Zhan Qipei, then calmly looked away.
Zhan Qipei raised his hand to rub his temple, stifling a pain.
“We’re having dumplings for dinner, handmade,” Qiao Jing said.
She knew how to make dumplings?
Just as Zhan Qipei was thinking this, the doorbell rang.
“It must be him,” Qiao Jing said as she walked toward the door.
Zhan Qipei’s gaze foll ...
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