"If it wasn't Brother Xuan… then…"
The very thought of a certain possibility caused Ling Chuxia's pitch-black pupils to sink even further, lackluster from her illness. Now they grew darker. She propped herself up with her hands and slowly sat up in bed, flinging off the covers to get up.
Her body was still feverish. As the blanket was lifted, a chill enveloped her, making her shiver uncontrollably. She bit her lip, but stood up straight nonetheless, taking one slow step at a time toward the living room.
With her body aching and weak, Ling Chuxia moved very slowly, but she kept going persistently. Once she exited the bedroom, she could immediately spot the tall figure in the kitchen.
So familiar, so deeply etched in her memory, yet so ironically present.
It really was him! She hadn't dealt with him, and yet he had the audacity to show up at her house!
