Jiang Yue adjusted the cap, feeling the slight weight of the attached wig.
"Long hair is too much trouble to maintain," she muttered. "It gets in the way."
Luo Zhelan chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. "That sounds about right. Knowing you, you'd hate anything that requires extra effort."
She shot him a look, ready with a retort, but before she could speak, his fingers found hers—effortlessly intertwining, as if they had always belonged there.
His grip was steady, warm, familiar.
"Tonight," he said, voice softer now, "we don't have to worry about being recognized."
Jiang Yue arched a skeptical brow, amused by his words. "We're just wearing caps. It's not like we've completely changed our faces."
Luo Zhelan only shrugged, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Sometimes, it's not your face that makes you recognizable—it's the way you carry yourself, your presence." His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful. "And right now… you don't look like the usual you."
