Mo Qiansu muttered, "How could I remember that!"
"You really don't remember?!"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure you don't remember a single thing?!" A dangerous aura began to close in on her.
"Yeah!"
"It looks like I'll just have to use my charm to make you remember properly!"
…
She recited to him a passage from her diary, the words she had written about him.
Even if Mo Qiansu could remember what she wrote, how could she muster the courage to read out those naive yet provocative words, which chronicled her admiration and infatuation for him.
By the late hours of the night, despite not having pried her mouth open, he felt somewhat defeated.
However, he quickly reconsidered, thinking that they had all the time in the world. From now on, he would press her daily until, eventually, she would grow tired of being asked and would certainly tell him everything.
His hand rested on her hair, caressing it gently and adoringly with each stroke.