The sun was already high in the sky, but there was still no movement from the East Wing. Aunt Chen gave up on getting the young couple up for breakfast, picked up her bag, left the yard, and locked the door.
In the bedroom, Zhang Guoqing was sleeping soundly, his arms tightly wrapped around Zhou Jiao under the quilt, his legs entangled with hers, occasionally mumbling indistinct words.
Zhou Jiao slowly opened her eyes, unable to stretch her tightly bound legs. She smiled helplessly—this man had a domineering streak in his bones.
Resisting the soreness and numbness in her body, she lay motionlessly in his embrace. It was a rare good weather day, with sunlight filtering through the curtains. Zhou Jiao half-squinted, considering whether to wake him up.
"Sweet... hehe... flower..."
Hearing this, Zhou Jiao blushed with embarrassment, losing her sense of compassion. She extended a hand and slapped his forehead with a "smack."
