Zhulan stared fixedly at her own claws, running over to Zhou Shuren's bed was one thing, but was it actually okay to hold Zhou Shuren's waist? She had plastered herself all over him in an instant, her face flushed and sweaty, and she didn't dare move a muscle. She had originally warned Zhou Shuren not to entertain any ideas about her, but now here she was, throwing herself into his embrace—her cheeks felt slapped swollen. No, jumping into the Yellow River wouldn't wash her clear of this.
Zhou Shuren had long been awake, cough cough, the only drawback of the inn was how cold it got at night. Even though there was a stove burning in the room, it wasn't warm. The bed couldn't compare to a heated brick bed, and Zhulan, used to sleeping on a kang, naturally sought warmth during the night. It wasn't him trying anything; Zhulan had nestled in on her own, and of course, he just went with it and held her!
