Rong Xingyu's bedroom was decorated very warmly.
The overall color scheme of the room was light and simple, but it gave off a feeling much like Rong Xingyu himself, comfortable and soothing.
Ding Yixin's gaze fell on the bed not far away, where a small mound formed by the blanket rose slightly.
It moved with faint, barely noticeable rises and falls as the person beneath it breathed.
Ding Yixin's expression instantly softened.
He shook his head and let out a quiet laugh, then gently pulled the door shut behind him and, by habit, locked it.
Ding Yixin walked toward the bed.
Rong Xingyu lay there with his eyes closed, his hands clenched into small fists as they gripped the blanket, sleeping soundly.
His thick eyelashes trembled lightly from time to time with his breathing, his sleeping face peaceful, like a well-behaved infant.
Ding Yixin could not bear to disturb him, so he sat down on the sofa beside the bed.
