Shen Mo eventually stayed.
In the dimly lit tent, where the orange glow of the fire outside could be glimpsed, a small pale hand rested softly on his chest. Shen Mo had no desire to sleep.
Occasionally, low voices would carry over, with his companions talking about the maze, or the Minotaur, or lice...
Shen Mo listened, his gaze drifting unconsciously down to the little hand on his chest.
He gently grasped it.
So soft...
So tender...
The skin was silky smooth and cool to the touch, turning mildly warm after a while; it was like tofu made of rose petals, fragrant and delicate.
As if possessed, he brought the small hand to his face and gently sniffed it.
And then...
And then...
He licked it.
After doing that, he immediately realized what changes had taken place within himself.
Shen Mo's heart plummeted!
He let go of Bai Youwei's hand, his movements as gentle as possible, preparing to leave...
