Han Fuyu wore a Xiangfei-colored dress on the top and a white layered skirt on the bottom, swaying between walking.
Not only Chu Wei Leng, but other customers in the shop also occasionally take a look here.
“My lord, what kind of hand cream do you want?” Han Fuyu asked again.
Chu Wei Leng looked at the girl who was only two steps away from him, took a half step back subconsciously, raised his hand to touch his nose, and said, “The fragrance of sweet-scented osmanthus.”
I don’t know what kind of stuff this girl used on her body, and the smell is too strong.
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