The moment Guo Jintao touched that icy hand, he instantly snapped awake, his eyes wide open, but since he was lying on his side facing the wall, he couldn't see to whom the cold hand belonged.
But without a doubt, at this hour, around two or three in the morning, no one would climb into his bed, and the hand felt so icy.
Startled, Guo Jintao quickly withdrew his hand and didn't dare to reach for the quilt again, just lying on his side, motionless.
There was no sound of breathing from behind him as if there was no one there, but he could distinctly feel a chill crawling up his spine, reaching his neck, and climbing onto the back of his head.
His back had gone completely numb.
Guo Jintao's eyes were wide open, utterly devoid of slumber. At that moment, he wished the wall in front of him was a mirror so that he could see what was behind him.
But at the same time, he also didn't want to see anything terrifying, which would deliver another severe blow to his already fragile heart.
