Never before had Chen Wanqing missed De'an so desperately.
If De'an had been here, Zhao Jing would never have been so wild.
It was like the end of the world. She was frightened just watching his fervor.
She worried he would die of exhaustion, but even more, she worried that before he did, she would die first from that soul-stealing, bone-deep pleasure.
Chen Wanqing hadn't left her room in two days. Not just the house, but her very bedroom. Her body ached, forcing her to stay in bed and rest.
Chen Wanqing gave Zhao Jing, the one responsible for her current state, a rare cold shoulder.
But Zhao Jing had always been shameless with her. He could swallow his pride and sweet-talk her, or he could feign dejection and guilt until she softened.
After this barrage of tactics, Chen Wanqing helplessly let her cold expression falter once again.
But to stop Jing from wearing her out again, she banished him to De'an's room for the night. They would sleep separately.
