The night is dark and the wind is high.
The campground, dotted with sparse lamps, is silent.
A shadowy figure stealthily emerged from one of the tents and tiptoed towards another single tent.
The moonlight illuminated a distinct profile; this unfairly handsome man was none other than Zhou Wang.
The tent flap had a slight gap, and by getting closer, one could vaguely see the scene inside with the help of nearby lighting.
Liu Rushuang's graceful figure was half-covered by a blanket, lying sideways on the ground mat. It was early spring, with the weather still a bit chilly, yet Liu Rushuang only wore a thin nightdress, her white thighs fully exposed without any cover.
Worse yet, from Zhou Wang's angle, he could even catch a glimpse of some indescribable shadows.
They nestled in white softness, indistinct yet tempting Zhou Wang to come closer, and then closer still.
