Nan Xin looked back, and Li San also raised his eyebrows, the two sharing a momentary feeling of social death.
In front of them, Li Qiao leaned casually against the door frame, casting a sly look their way.
By her side stood Shang Shaoyan, his single hand nonchalantly tucked into his pocket, exuding an air of arrogance.
Behind the pair stood Liuyun and Luoyu, their faces stern.
Nan Xin, holding a chamber pot in one hand, silently pulled the blanket up to cover Li San.
She wondered if she was cursed, as Li San's belongings incessantly haunted her mind.
So big, so thick, and so perfectly round.
Nan Xin, like a lost soul, took the urine pot to the restroom.
Li San lay on the bed on his side, eyes closed, hand pressed against his forehead, a vein throbbing at his temple.
His head ached in the back, and even more so below, damn that Nan Xin.
