Pei Huai’an elegantly took that mulberry from her palm, his lips moving gently, inevitably brushing against the center of her hand.
The touch was on her hand, but she felt as if something had tickled her heart as well.
Liang Qingluo froze for a moment, then looked up at him, catching sight of him calmly placing the mulberry in his mouth. He chewed a couple of times before his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Their gazes met, and Liang Qingluo saw, reflected in his clear eyes, her own face flushed bright red. She hurriedly lowered her head, only to find that her hand was still being held by him.
Her fingertips curled up sharply, and she withdrew her hand. “Wh-why are you eating like this?”
“I crushed that mulberry,” he explained unhurriedly. “I didn’t want to dirty my own hands.”
Liang Qingluo glanced at her palm. Sure enough, the mulberry had left a smudge of deep purple on her skin.
It wasn’t just in her palm—even her fingertips were stained.
The ripe mulberries’ skins were so thin they split at a touch; no wonder he was reluctant to pick them up himself.
Still, even so, for him to eat a mulberry in such a way just now felt overly intimate, didn’t it?
Intimate?
Ah, but he’d already told her in advance that today, he’d be acting a bit more familiar with her, and she was to play along.
She’d nearly forgotten about that.
But the whole thing had happened rather suddenly, and she’d already pulled her hand away. She wondered, did Qingjian notice?
She snuck a peek at Qingjian: he was standing at the very top of the tree, focused intently on picking berries, clearly having seen nothing.
Not only had he not noticed, even Youxian-jie and Danruo hadn’t looked their way.
Did that mean their little performance had been for nothing?
Should they… act it out again?
From Pei Huai’an’s angle, he could see her, beneath her long lashes, glance over at Qingjian. As the flush gradually faded from her cheeks, returning to a soft peach hue, her eyes spun with a lively glimmer. She finally looked up at him and blinked at him forcefully.
“Seventh Young Master, are the mulberries sweet?”
Pei Huai’an immediately understood her meaning: she wanted him to put on the act once more.
“Sweet,” he replied.
“Would you like another?”
“I would.”
Liang Qingluo picked another one, expecting he’d eat it as he had before, but this time, he didn’t lower his head.
A gentleman upright and well-mannered couldn’t possibly keep eating from a young girl’s hand like that.
So Pei Huai’an simply leaned toward her slightly. “Feed me.”
Liang Qingluo’s hand paused with the mulberry pinched between her fingers. Even though feeding him was just as intimate as letting him eat from her hand, hearing those two suggestive words from his lips made her heart tremble.
She thought perhaps something was wrong with her heart: in the past, it would only flutter for Qingjian, but today, it was fluttering for the Pei family’s Seventh Young Master too?
Perhaps it was because his performance was so convincing—especially those eyes of his as they looked at her, clear and warm as a sun-drenched lake in the afternoon, even the corners tinged with indulgent fondness.
Trembling, she offered the mulberry to his lips.
His gaze never left her face; just as she brought her hand close, he bit down on the mulberry, his lips inevitably brushing her fingertips.
This was normal.
Liang Qingluo tried to calm her wildly beating heart: he definitely didn’t touch her hand on purpose.
So, when she handed him the next berry, she pinched it by the stem, ensuring her fingers wouldn’t come into contact with his lips.
Sure enough, she fed him several more in this way, and each time he only gently bit down on the berry, never touching her fingers again.
Once he’d eaten the last ripe mulberry, a mischievous thought struck Liang Qingluo. She deliberately picked one that was less red—one she knew would be very sour—wanting to see what kind of face such a gentleman would make if surprised by the taste.
Afraid he’d catch on to her little trick, she quickly popped the berry into his mouth after picking it, then beamed up at him.
He swallowed it as usual, a small, scattered smile appearing in his eyes.
Hmm?
He didn’t find it sour?
Liang Qingluo picked another unripe berry and offered it to his lips.
He ate it just as casually, his face calm as ever.
“Not sour?” she asked, curiosity piqued.
“Not sour. Perhaps this tree is older, so even the unripe berries aren’t sour,” Pei Huai’an replied, perfectly straight-faced.
Is that so?
Back when she was in the tree, Liang Qingluo had only picked and eaten the ripe berries, never trying the less ripe ones.
His expression didn’t look as if he was lying, and besides, such a sincere, refined young gentleman wouldn’t lie, would he?
So Liang Qingluo pulled off a half-ripe mulberry and popped it into her own mouth.
“…”
Ahhh…
It was so sour it could kill!
Her little face scrunched up, and the smile shifted to his face instead.
Liang Qingluo quickly spat out the unbearably sour berry and saw him watching her with a wide grin. She immediately raised her hand to smack him. “You tricked me, you tricked me—it’s so, so sour…”
But as she spoke, the sourness made her eyes water.
How embarrassing!
Pei Huai’an looked at the little girl hopping about from the sourness, and all the stifled air in his chest was swept away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he let out a hearty laugh.
Still laughing, he handed her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth.
Turning away, she hurriedly wiped herself.
As she turned around, she finally realized: above and below the tree, three people were standing absolutely still, all staring directly at them.
She couldn’t see Qingjian’s expression up in the tree, but down below, on Shen Youxian and Danruo’s faces, four big words were practically flashing in the sunlight.
Flirting and teasing.