The next morning, Li Xiu woke up early as usual. He tidied the room, did the laundry, and made breakfast. By the time Zhou Lian got up, the sun was already high in the sky.
Propping herself up with a hand on her lower back, Zhou Lian gritted her teeth in resentment. 'That damned man… It was like he hadn't seen a woman in eight lifetimes.'
After breakfast, Zhou Lian was half-lying on the kang bed, resting. When she took the "love letter" from Li Xiu's mouth, she had a smile at the corners of her eyes. But as she read it, her face quickly turned red, then pale, then dark. Zhou Lian was furious. 'What kind of person was this, using their intimate bedroom affairs to write a "love poem" and tease his own wife?'
This wasn't a love poem at all; it was a hooligan's verse! 'When did this shameless man become so out of line? Who uses their private moments to write poems teasing their own wife?!'
