Two boys helped Yue Wushang, and Qi Luoer followed behind.
Along the way, Yue Wushang kept his head half-bowed, his eyes slightly closed, and said nothing. Although his handsome face was a little red, his expression was unclear, and he didn't know what he was thinking, nor whether he was awake or not.
The two boys helped him into a guest room, got on the quaint and exquisite big bed, and covered him with a quilt. Without opening his eyes, Yue Wushang turned over and fell asleep.
Qi Luoer looked at the big bed in the room, feeling a little embarrassed.[
Where will she sleep this night? She has no guts to sleep in the same bed with him!
She looked around the room. What was disgusting was that except for this extremely gorgeous bed, there was not even a single piece of furniture in the room.
What kind of guest room is this? Qi Luoer was almost on the verge of tears.
What should I do? She has to stand here all night?
Maybe she takes this opportunity to leave? This is an excellent opportunity!
My son's birthday also passed and he was not around.
Now we have just left the Mirage Palace. If we escape, no one will stop us...
Once the idea of escape arises, it immediately burns like a raging fire.
Although Yue Wushang was indifferent to her, he still cared deeply for Beibei. She was relieved to leave the child to him.
Since he doesn't love me anymore, there's no point in staying here reluctantly. It's better to leave...
I walked over step by step and stood beside the bed, looking down at him, knowing that if I walked away, I would never see him again.
My heart suddenly felt so empty, so dark that I couldn't see the bottom of it. There was no separation yet, but my heart was already full of separation sorrow...
"Yue Wushang..." He murmured in his heart, a mist rising in his eyes.
Through the misty eyes, Yue Wushang could be seen with her eyes slightly closed, lying on her back between the cloud quilt and brocade quilt.
His brows were slightly furrowed, the corners of his lips were slightly pursed, and there was a faint glow on his face.
The black silk on the brocade quilt was like satin, sliding down the edge of the bed like flowing water.
One of his hands slipped to the edge of the bed, stretched out in vain, the knuckles a little pale, as if he wanted to grab something.
I really want to hold his hand again, even just once.
I haven't made up my mind yet, but my hand seems to have its own consciousness, slowly holding his hand.[