Zhaozhu exclaimed in surprise, "So you were pretending to be drunk!"
"Shh..." Yu Siqiao stood up, heading towards the bed where Mo Shu lay, "Go get a basin of cool water, and have the kitchen prepare some hangover soup."
"Ah?" Zhaozhu felt a bit strange, looking at his spirited appearance, "But aren't you not drunk?"
"Put on a full show," Mo Shu said, "Go on."
"Yes." Zhaozhu immediately went out.
This voice was soft, completely different from the usual cold and strict tone.
Yu Siqiao looked at her, but didn't dare to get too close.
He had just returned from the wine table, and his body carried a strong scent.
Looking at his little wife in front of him, half-covered with the round fan, his gaze was intense, shifting from the exquisite and beautiful fan to her partially exposed snow-white forehead.
In the middle, a spot of vermilion was dotted, and above it, dark clouds of hair and a delicate, luxurious hair ornament.
