"Mister Mu Qian, Mister Mu Qian, wake up..."
It was her, that hateful yet adorable woman.
Mu Qian felt warmth spreading across his face; a soft, warm hand touching his cheek, a kind of warmth he yearned for. Like an addict finding an antidote, he desperately wanted to lean into the warmth beside him, but found himself unable to move.
Then, the warmth on his face suddenly left, and he struggled to suddenly open his eyes.
At first, his vision was dim, but it gradually cleared up, and he saw a smiling face—a face smiling yet with eyes reddened by tears. Beautiful, so beautiful, followed by her voice tinged with surprise, "Mister Mu Qian, you're awake, thank goodness you've finally woken up."
The woman wept with joy, and a tear fell on his face, so warm.
Mu Qian moved slightly, reaching out his hand toward her.
Wen Jiaren looked at his outstretched hand and immediately gripped it tightly, "How are you feeling, is there any discomfort?"
