Leng Youchen got out of bed, quickly poured a glass of warm water, sat cross-legged by the bed, then pulled her into his arms and sat her down, handing the cup to her lips, and said softly, "Drink up."
Wei Anning sipped the water he offered and drank it all, soothing the dryness in her throat. She gazed at the night outside, dark as ink, and asked, "How long have I been asleep?"
Leng Youchen held the cup, gazing at her deeply, and said, "A day and a night."
"Oh."
Wei Anning looked around the bedroom, which was an extremely luxurious European style, full of opulence and elegance, yet inexplicably felt hollow and cold, lacking any human warmth.
"Where is this place?"
"Our home, in Marseille." Leng Youchen twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers, his voice low and husky, bewitching in the silent night.
