The space on the Zen Chair was limited, Shen Qinghe had just sat down when her legs unavoidably brushed against Dongfang Wuya's long legs, which had nowhere else to rest.
She sat stiffly, daring not to move, yet the warmth radiating from the man's legs followed her like a shadow, constantly reminding her that she was too close to a young man.
Dongfang Wuya, however, was unaware of Shen Qinghe's complex emotions and did not notice her discomfort. Seeing Shen Qinghe sitting with her little face stiff and looking straight at the Execution Platform without a glance elsewhere, he thought her expression not that of a spectator but rather of someone undergoing punishment.
"What are you nervous about?" Dongfang Wuya asked, puzzled, leaning close to Shen Qinghe, his long legs nearly pressing against her delicate ones.