December 3rd, winter camping's second day.
Even in summer, before dawn, Jiutiao Meijie felt a movement and opened her bleary eyes.
Dubian Che was getting ready to get out of bed.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Morning exercise," Dubian Che answered with his back to her, pulling pants up his legs.
"Don't go, stay with me," she implored.
"'Don Quixote's' author—Cervantes, once said, 'To sleep in, to not rise with the sun is to betray the day.'"
While he spoke, Dubian Che's feet hit the floor, ready to stand up and adjust his pants.
Jiutiao Meijie's slender arm reached out from under the covers, grabbing his belt, refusing to let him get up.
"Meijie—" Dubian Che said helplessly.
Jiutiao Meijie closed her eyes and continued to sleep, but her grip did not loosen.
Dubian Che turned around; his upper body leaned over her on the bed, pushing aside strands of mischievous black hair, admiring her fair face.
