Zhao Xiyan was just trying to intimidate her.
Despite the body's desires and the heart's cravings clamoring incessantly, he was still very careful to protect Qi Yue.
The thunder roared, but the rain was light, and after a short fuss, he soothed Qi Yue to sleep.
That night, he did not stay by Qi Yue's side as usual to accompany her in sleep.
Seeing that she was sleeping deeply, he left the room.
Outside, a torrential rain poured down, and the constant flashing of lightning involuntarily filled one with dread.
Under the eaves shrouded in mist stood a figure.
This person was tall and straight, appearing to be not yet thirty years old.
Dressed in a grey monk's robe with a shaved head, his left hand holding a black Zen Staff, he almost merged with the ink-dark night sky.
Hearing the sound of the door closing behind him, the monk slowly turned around.
At the moment their gazes collided, the monk slightly bowed and raised his right hand in a Buddhist salute.
