Ling Siyao.
No wonder the name sounded so familiar, it was—
But still, is it really okay for you guys to talk behind Mr. President's back like that?
"If it's Mr. President, then the title is indeed fitting," Gu Xiaoer stroked her chin, nodded her head seriously, offering a sincere critique. She had seen him on TV—a serious and profound kind of handsome, became President at such a young age, and was called the national husband by many girls. Back in her school days, every time she watched the news, it was like watching an idol drama.
While flaunting his knife skills, Ling Ye's hands paused abruptly, nearly cutting himself. What did she mean by "indeed fitting"? Pfft!
Han Luoli watched the young girl's mind painting pictures of other men, and let out a nonchalant cold huff. He put his arm on Gu Xiaoer's shoulder, scoffing arrogantly, "A man relies on strength, not his face—that's for pretty boys!"
"Pfft—" Three sounds erupted simultaneously in the kitchen.