One night.
Song Cheng felt as if he were having a tryst with a goddess, his hands brushing against, his legs touching, all of it smoother than silk, softer than tofu, more fragrant than flowers, sweeter than honey, that white flesh.
He even felt a sense of desecration in his heart, but it soon turned into a greater passion.
For a long while, he and this ice and snow fairy-like woman snuggled together, calming down.
Suddenly, he felt his vision before him once again start a "rollercoaster change," sometimes extremely clear, sometimes extremely blurry.
So, he simply closed his eyes.
Indeed, it felt much better this way.
Immediately, Song Cheng got up again.
"What are you looking for?" Miss An looked at the young man who had become her man.
Song Cheng said, "A piece of black cloth, I want to cover my eyes."
"In the left drawer of the dressing table, see if that works," Miss An said, then asked, "Little Song, did you feel comfortable?"
