The night was already deep. A gentle breeze blew in through the open window, lifting a small corner of the curtain.
On the fabric sofa in the center of the living room, there was a dark figure. It was evident that the figure was smoking; the flickering light of the cigarette was so conspicuous in the darkness.
Qianning, wearing a thin nightgown, walked down the stairs. She had woken up to the sound of the door opening, but she hadn't heard him come upstairs for a long time.
"Click," Qianning turned on the main light. The sudden change in lighting startled Beigong Cang on the sofa, who turned to look at her. Qianning could now see Beigong Cang clearly, in such a disheveled appearance. His hair was somewhat messy, three buttons of his shirt were undone, one side of his shirt was tucked into his pants, the other pulled out. His eyes were bloodshot, and the cigarette in his hand was still emitting smoke.
"What's wrong?" Qianning asked softly, approaching him.
