There was a hint that Yao Ye shouldn't have brought her here.
Now that she knows the cause of her father's death was unjust, the pressure in her heart has definitely increased.
Yao Ye's long eyelashes drooped down, casting a shadow of contemplation on his face.
Jun Ye took a cup and went outside to pour hot water.
Yao Ye reached out to the person sleeping beside him, gently brushing the fallen bangs with his fingertips, as if worried he might hurt her.
In his eyes, she's like a porcelain doll.
"Ziye—" Shen Jiayin opened her eyes slightly, vaguely recognizing his silhouette under the dim car lights.
"Sleep, I'm here with you." he said, his deep and rich voice like the strings of a cello, deep, gentle, and reliable.
She reached out from under the covers, held his hand, and said: "A bit cold." Then she blew on his slightly chilly fingers.
Soon, warmth slowly seeped from his fingertips into his heart.
