Pain.
That was the first thing Xia Weiwei felt when she opened her eyes.
It was not the unbearable pain she had experienced when she fell from the cliff in her previous life. Neither was it the emotional pain of watching Mo Shian die in her arms.
It was a dull, persistent pounding inside her head, as if a group of tiny construction workers had decided to renovate her brain without first asking for permission.
Weiwei frowned and attempted to raise her hand to massage her temple, only to discover that she could barely move.
Something heavy was wrapped around her waist.
She lowered her eyes and found a strong arm holding her tightly. Her back was pressed against a broad, warm chest, and a familiar scent surrounded her.
She immediately relaxed.
It was Mo Shian.
Judging from how tightly he was holding her, one would think she had tried to escape during the night.
