Feng Qing finished speaking, and Rong Ling coldly snorted lightly, "Come here."
Feng Qing helplessly walked over to the bedside, where Rong Ling slowly sat up, placing his hand on Feng Qing's arm.
Feng Qing gazed at that slender, jade-like hand, perfect like jade; just a pair of hands could spark endless imagination, let alone the person.
As Feng Qing was thinking, Rong Ling, who was holding her arm to sit up, spoke, "Alright, help this Prince over there."
"Alright, Prince."
Feng Qing noticed that Rong Ling merely wanted her to support him and did not make any overly intimate gestures, which made her feel much more at ease.
However, after just a few steps, Rong Ling was clearly struggling a bit, his breath slightly growing heavier, and his steps became somewhat labored.
Feng Qing instinctively looked up and saw sweat beading on Rong Ling's face.
