"Hua Jing," Zhao Yan called again, louder this time.
The sleeping figure in his arms didn't stir. Instead, her arms tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. Zhao Yan's breath hitched, his mind going blank for a moment as he froze in place.
He looked down at her. Hua Jing's face was tilted toward him, her features softened in peaceful slumber. There was a slight trail of drool escaping the corner of her lips, glistening faintly in the dim light.
Zhao Yan blinked. Was this truly the same sharp-tongued, aggravating woman who never missed an opportunity to mock him? She looked so different like this—quiet, serene, even vulnerable.
He hesitated for a moment, then gently reached out to wipe the drool from her lips. As his fingers brushed against her skin, he recoiled as though he had been burned.
His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He clenched his jaw, trying to steady his breathing. What was this feeling? Why was his body reacting this way?
