Rong Ling's words jolted Feng Qing awake. She sat up suddenly and noticed she was sprawled out on Rong Ling's bed, occupying most of the space. The Prince, like a pitiful little figure, was squeezed against the inside of the bed, and she remembered she had been hugging the Prince earlier, treating him like a body pillow.
Feng Qing's face darkened instantly; had she just—slept the Prince? Although "sleep" here did not mean what one might think, it still counted as a version of sleep.
She looked at the bed, then at the Prince, and silently cursed. She had offended the Prince severely once again.
First, she had pushed the Prince over, and now she had monopolized the Prince's large bed, squeezing him into a corner.
Her crimes were becoming increasingly severe.
Feng Qing felt a pang of distress; would she end up dying in an unsightly manner? No, she had to save herself.
