Yao Qing's movements stiffened in place, along with her expression that became indescribably rigid.
"...Would you like me to wring out a cold washcloth for you to wipe your face with?"
What brand of cheesy pick-up line was Yu Yanshen using?
It was so cringeworthy... he would have been better off just saying "I like you".
Yu Yanshen either didn't hear Yao Qing clearly, or he didn't care; he leaned back on the sofa, his dark pupils covered by fatigue, not knowing when his eyes had closed.
The pulsing of his veins was faintly visible on his neck, leading up to his Adam's apple, to his crimson lips.
Yu Yanshen had drunk more today than ever before.
Why was this?
By now, who could possibly have the power to intoxicate him? He wouldn't drink if he didn't want to; not even a glass of water could be forced upon him.
Yao Qing leaned quietly on his arm, and even though he appeared to be asleep, the hand resting on her waist didn't move away.
