Luo Binghe breathes again. As he thought—it was more of that maidenly coquetry that makes this Shen Qingqiu so enticing. He doesn't quite understand the phrase—what are they hanging out?—but context makes it clear.

"We could," he agrees. He would like to continue talking now, but he doesn't want to push the matter. Luo Binghe can be patient—with difficulty—but it feels dangerous to allow someone to wander freely who can make him feel like this. Especially since Luo Binghe has placed no claim on him. He is so enchanting, perfect and sweet as a ripe apricot. Anyone here could attempt to take what should be Luo Binghe's. He doesn't trust a one of them—well, except Nina.

"If I may ask—I loathe thinking of you as 'Shen Qingqiu.' Is there another name I might use?"