In the center of the room, flames fueled by dry pine needles rose thigh-high. Sheng Jinsen had also added some wood to the fire. Although it wasn't very big, it was much better than the chilly air before.
He held Song Weiyi in his arms, and after some effort, he finally moved next to the fire.
The flames brought some warmth back to their bodies, and he rubbed his hands nonstop, feeling a bit warmer.
Song Weiyi was half-embraced in his arms, or else she surely would have fallen again.
Sheng Jinsen pursed his lips, his somber visage reflected in the dark, casting a gloomy shadow on his face. Even though he knew Song Weiyi was another man's wife and that holding her like this was inappropriate, he still did not let go.
He looked down at the sleeping face of Song Weiyi, his heart feeling as if it were being squeezed tight.
Looking up at the window, he wondered when the rain would stop. Sheng Jinsen's brows were tightly furrowed, as if they could crush a mosquito.
