My Superstar Wife Is So Popular-Chapter 322 - 320: Sexy and Provocative

Qi Ming had just finished muttering to himself when he looked up to meet Wen Qiao’s gaze, and he instinctively took a step back, "I didn’t say anything."

Wen Qiao was quite satisfied with the intimidation she had over Qi Ming, and she beckoned to him, "Come here."

"What do you want?" Qi Ming, seeing the sly smile on Wen Qiao’s face that was akin to abducting children, took another step back, "I won’t submit to you."

"Are you sick? Who said anything about you submitting?" Wen Qiao flung her hand, and a boxed object followed a parabolic path, landing accurately in Qi Ming’s embrace, "Do you know how to strike a match?"

"Of course." Qi Ming took out the box from his embrace and glanced at it—it was the box of matches sitting on the table, "Why do we need to strike matches?"

"Looking for clues." Wen Qiao turned her back to the table and tapped with her fingertip on the blank paper on the table.

Qi Ming tilted his head and took a glance, "But that paper is empty."

"That’s exactly why you need to find clues, dummy—" just as she was about to say the last word, Wen Qiao promptly hit the brakes under Qi Ming’s expectant gaze, "child."

Qi Ming: "....."

"The crew used white vinegar to write on this paper. It needs to be heated with a fire to be visible." Wen Qiao kindly explained.

"Really? How do you know?"

Wen Qiao tapped her temple, "Because I’m clever."

He pressed his finger against the edge of the matchbox, and the drawer-style box popped open. He took out a match and struck it lightly—the flame instantly illuminated his face.

As he struck the match, Wen Qiao kept her eyes on him, and after he finished, she rarely complimented, "Your hands are quite nice."

"You have good taste. I think so too." Qi Ming cast his eyes down onto his own hands, which were a pleasant sight. He remembered something and said, "My little uncle’s hands are also very nice, with fingers even longer than mine."

Wen Qiao’s brow twitched, and she replied indifferently, "Is that so."

It was undeniable that, when she had seen Qi Ming striking the match, her mind had indeed conjured the image of Fu Jinghen performing the same action. The man’s fingers were long and well-defined, and with a casual flick, sparks flew between the matchstick and the matchbox, his veins subtly standing out on the back of his hand, both sexy and provocative.

She turned around to pick up the paper from the table, preparing to hold it over the flame.

Suddenly, Qi Ming realized something and asked, "You can’t be telling me you don’t even know how to strike a match, do you?"

Wen Qiao paused for a moment, then snorted, "What nonsense are you talking about?"

She wasn’t incapable of striking a match, but as a child, out of curiosity, she played with matches and was too close when a flame shot up quickly. Unable to dodge, she burned off half her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Ever since then, striking matches had left her with a slight psychological shadow.

But how could such an embarrassing incident be known to Qi Ming, that elementary chicken.

If he knew, how could he contain it? Wouldn’t he spread it around for the whole world to know?

However, Qi Ming, whose intelligence was usually offline, seemed to have logged in successfully at that moment. He laughed out loud, "You can’t do even such a simple thing, what an idiot hahaha."

Wen Qiao felt some annoyance from his laughter, and as she turned around to hit him with another deadly gaze, she saw Qi Ming, who was in fits of laughter, take a breath in while exchanging air, and extinguished the burning flame with it.

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