Qi Ming had just finished muttering to himself when he looked up to meet Wen Qiao's gaze, and he instinctively took a step back, "I didn't say anything."
Wen Qiao was quite satisfied with the intimidation she had over Qi Ming, and she beckoned to him, "Come here."
"What do you want?" Qi Ming, seeing the sly smile on Wen Qiao's face that was akin to abducting children, took another step back, "I won't submit to you."
"Are you sick? Who said anything about you submitting?" Wen Qiao flung her hand, and a boxed object followed a parabolic path, landing accurately in Qi Ming's embrace, "Do you know how to strike a match?"
"Of course." Qi Ming took out the box from his embrace and glanced at it—it was the box of matches sitting on the table, "Why do we need to strike matches?"
"Looking for clues." Wen Qiao turned her back to the table and tapped with her fingertip on the blank paper on the table.
Qi Ming tilted his head and took a glance, "But that paper is empty."
