He released her, slowly picked up the cup, took another sip of water, but didn't swallow it.
He leaned down and kissed her, causing Ning Yuan to instinctively grab his hair, tears welling in her eyes, and she breathed heavily.
Ning Yuan soon felt that her mind was completely empty, devoid of anything.
All five senses were entrusted to him alone, for an unknown period of time—perhaps a moment, perhaps a very long time…
He straightened up, looked down at her, and casually licked his lips, his voice hoarse: "Next time you dream, remember to dream about today often."
He always called her Ning Yuan; they didn't even use the same nicknames as the people around them.
But her name was crushed and shattered on his tongue and between his teeth, a mixture of ambiguity, tenderness, and ruthlessness.
It's more intimate than any nickname...
Her eyes were still vacant, and she trembled as she reached out her bandaged hand, as if trying to grasp something, her fingertips curling and spasming.
He took the opportunity to grab her forearm and push her onto the pillow, preventing her from injuring her wound due to excessive stimulation.
Rong Zhaonan gently brushed her cheek with the tip of his high nose: "Ning Yuan, if you dream, call me by my name."
His voice was so gentle, yet he ruthlessly bent down and took her.
An hour and a half later...
He was already dressed, and as he put on his watch, he asked in a lazy, husky voice—
"Exactly one and a half hours, Ning Yuan, am I on time?"
Ning Yuan was paralyzed, barely able to lift her eyelids, yet she still managed to squeeze out two words from her slurred throat—
"abnormal……"
How can it not be perverted?
He tormented her to no end.
But the gauze in her throat, the gauze on her forehead, the gauze in her palms, even the gauze on her shoulder, all the external injuries...
There was no displacement, not even a trace of bleeding.
This precise and demanding procedure, akin to advanced surgery...
He is also incredibly punctual...
That's absolutely insane!
Ning Yuan thought groggily, half asleep and half awake.
Until the door to the room was gently pushed open again, Rong Zhaonan's tall figure reappeared.
He was carrying two aluminum lunchboxes, clearly prepared especially for her.
He walked to the bedside and placed the food box on the bedside table, moving gently as if afraid of disturbing her.
Then, Rong Zhaonan leaned down slightly and whispered in her ear, his voice deep and husky, with a hint of tenderness that was barely perceptible: "The sheets have been changed, and I've cleaned you up and applied the medicine. Get a good night's sleep."
Ning Yuan felt his warm breath gently brush past her ear, carrying a faint scent of soapberry mixed with the man's unique aroma, making her already hot body even more sensitive.
He didn't leave immediately, but continued, "If I can get back by midnight, I can. If not, I'll bring some porridge over tomorrow morning."
The man's tone was tender and concerned, completely different from the domineering, forceful, and willful man he had been in bed just moments before.
Just moments before, he had dismembered her and devoured her wantonly, but now he was tenderly and meticulously caring for her feelings, as if she were some fragile treasure.
Rong Zhaonan took the hot porridge out of the food box, and carefully pulled the low table by the bedside closer before sitting down next to her.
He reached out and touched her forehead, and only after confirming that she didn't have a fever did he feel relieved.
Ning Yuan pushed him away, somewhat embarrassed and annoyed: "You... really..."
Where did he learn to be such a pervert in bed and a doting lover outside of bed?
He leaned down and gently kissed the corner of her lips, his deep voice slightly hoarse, like the lingering afterglow of passion, or perhaps with a hint of certainty: "This time, in your dreams, you'll call my name."
Ning Yuan's heart raced at his sudden intimate gesture, and she froze, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks, so hot that she dared not look up at him.
She frantically buried her face in the soft blankets, trying to avoid his burning gaze and the words that made her blush.
My heart was pounding uncontrollably, like a deafening drumbeat.
Rong Zhaonan looked at Ning Yuan, who had buried her head in the blanket like an ostrich, and couldn't help but chuckle. He didn't tease her any further, but left the room with a pleasant feeling.
Ning Yuan struggled to peek out from under the soft blankets only after the room door slammed shut.
She struggled to lift her eyelids, her once bright eyes now swollen like two walnuts, staring blankly at the snow-white ceiling.
She couldn't help but curse that incredibly strong bastard in her heart.
It's so unfair. He's worn himself out, yet he still has the energy to fiddle with those cold, impersonal machines.
Ning Yuan turned over in annoyance, but the movement strained all her muscles, and the soreness made her gasp.
At that moment, she felt like a paralyzed patient, and even moving a finger felt exhausting.
Eating meat is fine, but she never thought she would eat herself into vomiting!
He said she would regret it, and sure enough...
The first time I encountered someone who seemed righteous, but was actually an evil Taoist disciple who practiced yin-yang cultivation!
It's true that you can't give a textbook to a young virgin who's been suppressing his feelings for too long... no, an old virgin.
Ning Yuan wanted to curse, to curse herself and to curse the Taoist priest Rong, but she couldn't utter a sound, which made her even more frustrated!
Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as if they were filled with lead, and she couldn't open them no matter what she did. In the end, Ning Yuan couldn't resist the invasion of drowsiness and fell into a deep sleep.
This time, she fell into a dream again, but the people and things in the dream were no longer the same. The images that had lingered in her mind were as if covered by a thin veil, becoming blurry and indistinct.
In her dream, there was only a tranquil darkness, without hatred, without fear, and without that terrible night, without towering flames, without suffocating smoke, and without that vicious, burly man with a face full of scars who cruelly snapped her neck.
She dreamt that she was like a small boat being carried by the waves, and the waves made her call his name.
The tides were fierce, but the sea breeze was gentle; she called out softly, again and again…
Rong...Zhao...Nan...
In her dream, she called out, and with each call, the ashes in her heart were scattered by the sea breeze into the dust of time.
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