Chen Jieyu's eyes remained closed, but her hand unconsciously grabbed Cheng Zhu's right hand.
This despicable man only did one thing.
He suddenly pulled up the blanket and covered both of them, murmuring, "It's all right."
It wasn't a cotton quilt that he covered.
He was building a staircase.
Or rather, providing a fig leaf.
From then on, there was no turning back.
—A teacher, to impart knowledge and instruct the students.
But Cheng Zhu was not in a hurry.
The night was long.
The rain outside showed no signs of stopping.
The large French window was already covered in beads of water.
It was a one-way glass, which Cheng Zhu had studied before.
When he had gone downstairs, he had observed from the lawn that there was nothing wrong with the glass.
Cheng Zhu wouldn't hastily skip the necessary groundwork.
He looked interestedly at her abstinent face.
Watching her expression, listening to her choked voice occasionally leaking a bit out.
