Then, he slowly raised his hand and rubbed his face.
"Mind like still water... Mind like still... still... How the hell do you still the water?"
Zhao Rong felt his spear was almost unbearable tonight.
"Ziyu, close the door quickly, it's cold outside, don't catch a chill,"
a crisp female voice came from the room behind him.
Zhao Rong didn't immediately turn around.
Standing at the door, gripping the doorframe, he couldn't help but glance again towards the west wing.
Was little Qian'er asleep, now covered under her small quilt?
Sometimes she liked to call out his name in her sleep, sweetly, sourly, or discontentedly, and then upon waking up, she delighted in squinting her eyes and tilting her head, asking him in a silly manner whether he knew what she had dreamed of.
