Sure, a pretty sister_1.

After rounding the screen, Shen Jing's fingertips momentarily curled as she caught her first glimpse of Zhou Luchen.

Her steps halted.

That heart-soothing laughter truly belonged to him.

He sat next to the old lady, his presence overwhelming. His long legs, clad in black trousers, stretched out boldly as he idly tapped an exquisite meridian massage hammer in his hand against his palm.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

The sound was lax and nonchalant.

The antique sandalwood sofa, rich with charm, was cushioned with a velvety black seat pad.

Zhou Luchen seemed not to notice her, his lips slightly pursed, his brows unmoved.

Shen Jing rarely saw Zhou Luchen like this, looking every inch the filial grandson as he kept the old lady company: drinking tea with her, massaging her shoulders, and chatting.