There is no doubt that Xing Xiaojiu had indeed drunk a lot, and her brain, initially sobered by the cool breeze, was now completely devastated by the lingering power of the alcohol.
He sighed deeply and carried her whole body down, his hands and heart trembling at the contact with her soft form.
That delicate waist, softer than willows swaying in the breeze, made him take several deep breaths before he dared to let his gaze fall upon her body—those legs, those feet, that skin tone. It took all his effort to get to the dormitory...
How could this woman be so soft, so soft that it sickened his heart, making him so nervous that beads of sweat popped out on his skin.
Meanwhile, the thoroughly muddled Xing Xiaojiu clung tightly to his neck, muttering under her breath, oblivious to the tears streaming from her eyes or to what she was actually saying.
