Xu Meili and Xu Cuifen are cousins. Completely oblivious to the murderous glare Xu Cuifen gave her behind her, she smiled broadly and said:
"Is your son Dajun doing some business outside? Look at you, you've become so rosy-cheeked, just like the actresses on TV."
Xu Cuifen used to bring Wen Jiaojiao to buy clothes often, but she really didn't expect Xu Meili to have such poor taste.
She interrupted impatiently, "Why bring that up? Hurry up and pick out a couple of outfits for my Jiaojiao."
Xu Meili didn't understand the meaning. Looking at the man standing at the door, she asked in surprise:
"Zhaoye's here too? Hasn't the factory been busy lately? Dajun hasn't had time to keep you company, so you came to help your sister buy her wedding dress?"
Wen Jiaojiao's face flushed red, and she said angrily:
"What kind of wedding are you talking about? You're just selling clothes. Mom, let's go, let's go to another store."
Seeing the two turn away in displeasure, Xu Meili's smile froze. She truly hadn't expected that after all that, they still wouldn't get married.
She forced a smile, grabbed Wen Jiaojiao's arm, and pleaded with her to stay:
"Jiaojiao, your beautiful auntie just said something too much today, don't be angry. Come and take a look, the store has a lot of new styles, I guarantee you the lowest price."
Wen Jiaojiao was drenched in sweat and really didn't want to walk any more, so she picked out two very plain, unstyled dresses.
Xu Cuifen muttered something:
"Jiaojiao, your taste isn't as good as it used to be. There are so many nice things in the store. What's the point of wearing something so pure white? It even looks unlucky. Look around some more."
Looking at the various old-fashioned polka dot dresses in the store, Wen Jiaojiao picked up a pure white, fitted polyester dress and said:
"I'll show you, and then you'll know if it looks good or not."
Wen Zhaoye sat in the shop, carefully examining the clothing styles, lost in thought, when his eyes were drawn to a pure white garment.
Her hair reached her waist, her face was bright and delicate, and the design of her skirt, which was short in the front and long in the back, showed off her slender, white legs. She looked like a pure and flawless jasmine flower.
His ears burned, his gaze darted around, and his heart pounded like a thunderous war drum.
The clothes she picked all looked like mourning attire, yet she wore them so well. It's true that if you want to look good, you have to wear mourning clothes.
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