The temperature in the bathroom climbed higher and higher, fogging up the frosted glass with a layer of mist that formed dense trails of water streaming down.
Fu Shiyan's kisses carried a touch of restraint, perseverance, and heartache.
He trailed down from An Yan's lips, over her snowy neck, lingering on every bullet mark on her body.
Seeing those scars that had already formed, Fu Shiyan's eyes reddened.
His fingertips gently caressed them, "It must have hurt a lot, I really can't imagine how you endured it."
An Yan shook her head lightly, "It hurt a bit at that time, but it doesn't hurt anymore."
Fu Shiyan was full of self-blame, "It's all my fault, all of it."
An Yan's fingertips stood on the man's thin lips, "It's not your fault."
"No, it is my fault. If I had remembered earlier that you're Mo, then we wouldn't have had so many misunderstandings, nor would I have let you face such dangers.
