What she saw made her heart clench instantly. The room was a mess, with tables and chairs overturned, broken porcelain shards and overturned teacups scattered on the floor. But the most shocking sight was on the bed. Shen Qinghe lay on the bed in disheveled clothes, her right hand tightly bound to the bedpost with a rope. The rope was rough, and her wrist was badly chafed, with blood seeping out and staining the rope red.
Meng Zhao gasped and turned to look at Afu.
Afu hurriedly waved his hands, "No, no! It was the adult himself, he... he tied himself up with a rope when he was conscious."
Before he could finish speaking, Shen Qinghe on the bed suddenly roared angrily, "Get out!" He struggled to grab something and throw it, but the bed was already empty. He could only futilely pound the bed board with his hands, making muffled 'bang bang' sounds.
Meng Zhao stood there somewhat at a loss. She had thought the matter was simple, at most a cold bath and catching a chill, but she hadn't expected it to be so serious. She couldn't help but worry about what would happen if something really went wrong.
Noticing that the person inside hadn't left yet, Shen Qinghe opened his eyes. When he saw that familiar figure in his blurry vision, he wasn't too surprised. He must be dreaming. She should be in the capital right now, how could she be in Huai'an?
But the dream was too real, especially the faint fragrance lingering at the tip of her nose, which was exactly the same as her scent. Shen Qinghe felt the heat that she had finally managed to suppress surge up again. Her rationality, which had been eroded by the drug, collapsed once more. She unconsciously struggled with her wrists, and the rough hemp rope was about to chafe her wrists again.
Seeing this, Meng Zhao quickly picked up a piece of scattered satin fabric from the ground, carefully lifted her wrist, and placed it between the wound and the hemp rope.
This action forced her to lean closer, and the familiar scent grew stronger. "Ah Zhao... Ah Zhao..." he murmured unconsciously, his hoarse voice filled with unbearable longing.
The call startled Meng Zhao. She caught a glimpse of Afu still standing at the door. Without hesitation, she stuffed the wet handkerchief in her hand into Shen Qinghe's mouth, thinking, "Shut up, you little brat."
Shen Qinghe groaned as the handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth. The damp, cool touch brought him to his senses a little more. He struggled to lift his eyes and met Meng Zhao's gaze. The lingering effects of the drug made his consciousness still hazy, but a feeling suddenly rose in his heart that the person in front of him seemed to be real and not a dream.
When he realized this, a thousand emotions surged in his eyes, which were red with lust: shock, joy, embarrassment, and a desperately restrained desire. In the end, all his intense emotions turned into a pool of aggrieved spring water under her gaze.
"I feel so bad..." Shen Qinghe's voice came through the cloth, muffled. Her usually cool voice was now incredibly soft, with a slight tremor at the end, "Ah Zhao... I feel so bad..."
As he spoke, his bound wrists twitched unconsciously, causing a small patch of blood to seep into the satin beneath them. Tears clung to his long eyelashes, making him appear even more fragile and vulnerable. His usually unfathomable eyes now gazed at her with a wet look, like a lost young animal that had finally found its master.
Meng Zhao felt a sharp pang in her heart. She had never seen Shen Qinghe like this before, stripped of all his defenses and scheming, leaving only his most genuine vulnerability and dependence. This realization made her throat tighten, and she unconsciously reached out, her fingertips gently brushing against his burning forehead. "I'm here, just bear with it a little longer, it'll be over soon."
No sooner had she finished speaking than Shen Qinghe pressed himself against her like a thirsty fish, his burning cheeks rubbing greedily against her cool palms. Meng Zhao's heart skipped a beat, and she said to Afu, who was standing there in a daze, "Go and fetch some more cold water." Afu snapped out of his daze and hurriedly ran out.
Only the two of them remained in the room. Meng Zhao removed the gag from his mouth, and Shen Qinghe immediately asked, "Is that you?" His voice was hoarse.
"It's me." Meng Zhao had just responded when he saw Shen Qinghe pouting aggrievedly, her eyes, reddened by the effects of the medicine, becoming even more strikingly beautiful.
“I knew it,” he accused weakly, “you were the one who drugged me, but I waited for you for so long and you never came.”
Upon hearing this, Meng Zhao's eyes widened suddenly. "Shen Qinghe! Are you crazy? You're trying to pin all sorts of blame on me."
Shen Qinghe, whose hand had been pulled away, immediately protested, stubbornly grabbing her wrist with his free hand and pressing her palm back against his burning cheek: "I didn't, you're the one who drugged me. You even brought me soup, which I didn't want to drink, but you forced me to drink it. And after I drank it, you ignored me."
Meng Zhao was almost laughing in anger. What was all this nonsense? She tried to pull her hand away, but couldn't. So she simply pinched his burning cheek. "Shen Qinghe, if you're going to dream, at least be realistic, okay? If I really wanted to do something to you, would I need to drug you?"
Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly felt a warm, wet touch. Shen Qinghe, in a daze, stuck out his tongue and gently licked the base of her thumb. The sudden action struck Meng Zhao like a thunderbolt, and for a moment she forgot to pull her hand back.
Shen Qinghe seemed to have found some interesting toy, and even gently rubbed the delicate skin with the tip of his teeth. The subtle stinging sensation combined with the burning touch made Meng Zhao feel as if a firework had exploded in his mind.
Just then, Afu returned with water. Meng Zhao snapped out of her daze, quickly pulled her hand back, and turned to wash the handkerchief, her ears turning slightly red.
Without any reassurance, Shen Qinghe suddenly became even more agitated. Seeing that the wound was about to bleed again, Meng Zhao hesitated for a moment before finally sitting back down on the edge of the bed and slowly extending her hand.
Shen Qinghe immediately grasped her wrist as if it were a lifeline, his burning cheek pressed against her slightly cool skin, letting out a satisfied sigh.
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