When Cheng Zhao came out drying her wet hair, Qiao Zhen, acting like a doting mother, followed behind her and said, "Cheng Zhao Zhao, you need to blow-dry your hair."
Cheng Zhao ignored her, casually took a can of beer from the refrigerator, and stood by the window, letting the cold wind blow on him, trying to calm himself down and reconsider the pros and cons of what he had done these past few days.
Qiao Zhen wanted to pretend to hit him to vent her anger, but what she touched was fluffy, soft hair. She looked at her transparent hand in surprise.
"I didn't mean to, I just tried it out, I really didn't know I would run into it!"
She launched into a series of explanations.
Cheng Zhao simply said, "You want to hit me." He looked down, his fingertips tracing the cold beer can. "That's fine too."
Qiao Zhen looked at Cheng Zhao with a blank expression. What? What does this mean? "I really didn't mean to, I just wanted to blow-dry your hair."
Cheng Zhao ignored her, simply placed the beer can on the coffee table, went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and go to sleep.
Qiao Zhen looked at the wet stains on the pillow. "Hey, hey, hey, are you really not going to consider drying your hair? The window isn't even closed. Are you trying to kill yourself?"
When she floated to the window, she reached out to push it open, but wait, she passed right through it and couldn't move it.
Cheng Zhao glanced at the window, his eyelids drooping, his eyes devoid of any emotion. He pulled the blanket over his nose and slowly closed his eyes to sleep.
Once Cheng Zhao's breathing had calmed down and he was asleep, Qiao Zhen and the old man went to the living room to remark on his ghostly existence, "Aren't you very powerful? Dry Cheng Zhao's hair."
After a moment's thought, the old man felt that this matter would not harm him and might even be beneficial, so he readily agreed.
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