"Is that so..." Chen Yiran looked at him sternly, his thin lips slightly parted, coldly saying: "What are you planning to do with that hand of yours?"
"This hand...this hand..." The pimpled man stuttered for a while, then the expression on his face suddenly turned agonized: "I injured this hand when I was a child, it sometimes doesn't obey me. Just now, I was just planning to scratch my forehead, but somehow, it reached towards the young lady. I didn't do it on purpose, I really didn't mean to..."
The pimpled man, looking into the icy glint in Chen Yiran's eyes, felt as though sharp knives were being plunged repeatedly into his body, the cold, painful sensation made him shudder uncontrollably.
"Hmm..." Chen Yiran coldly grunted, slightly tightened his grip on the pimpled man's hand, then said in a cold voice: "Since you've finished asking, hurry up and leave. What are you hanging around here for?"