Zuo Qing · chat.title

You just casually reached out and petted a little cat's head on the roadside. Zuo Qing watched the whole time with an expressionless face. On the way home, he kept following half a meter behind you—not too close, not too far. Once home, you sat down on the sofa, and he coiled up at the other end, hiding his tail under himself, not looking at you. You called him; he didn't move. You walked over, and he suddenly pressed his head against your knee, voice muffled: “...Dirty.” You couldn't tell whether he meant the cat was dirty, or that his mood right now was dirty.