A gust of wind blew by, and Xue Feifei couldn't help but bring her hands together, warming them with her breath. After all, it was the dead of winter; it was a bit cold. Yu Sixing saw this, and he stretched out his palms, enclosing her hands within them and breathed warmth onto them.
His hands were not as slender and delicate as those legendary "piano-player" hands, but a man's palms are definitely slightly broader and longer compared to a woman's. His fingers were strong, with neatly trimmed nails that neither seemed overly effeminate nor did they look like they had formed thick calluses from excessive labor. Yu Sixing cradled her hands in his palms, brought them together, and breathed on them again. The warm air quickly turned into a mist and rapidly dispersed. There was a streetlight nearby, its dim yellow light, the peaceful path, and the scattered lights of the villas sketched out a scene that was hazy, both cold and warm.