The bedroom door was still being opened, and the door, of excellent quality, didn't make a sound.
Wan Shouguang's heart was pounding like a drum at this moment; he strained his eyes trying to see who was opening the door, but even though it was already open a third of the way, he couldn't make out any figure—just the pitch-black darkness of the hallway outside.
The rustling sound arose at the doorway, drawing closer as if it had entered the bedroom.
Wan Shouguang could hear his own heart racing; he tensed up, daring not to move, for fear of startling the person opening the door in the dark.
His right hand moved slowly forward, touching Liu Jialan, who was still deep in sleep, and he gently pushed her but failed to wake her up.
Lately, Jialan had indeed been very tired, both mentally and physically exhausted. Ever since Wan Cong's "Resurrection," she had been constantly worried and had been running herself ragged. For some reason, she slept unusually heavily tonight.
