He could distinctly feel his back rubbing intimately against the ground beneath him.
Whizzing noises frolicked by his ears— buzzing insects, the rustle of leaves, the roars of wild beasts, the flapping of birds' wings...
But in the end, all these sounds were drowned out by the breathing of the girl above him.
He noticed her slender back glistening with a fine layer of sweat; her snow-white dress was smeared with mud and blood.
The girl's shoulders bore a thick vine, which was connected to him, lying on a net woven from branches.
Zhao Lang's lips, nearly cracked from dryness, moved slightly, his throat as parched as a desert, emitting not a whisper.
Perhaps hearing his stir, Jiang Li stopped and turned her head.
Struggling, Zhao Lang opened his eyes and lifted his head.
Despite the surrounding darkness, her silhouette was strikingly clear, her whole figure glowing eerily white.
