Song Ying was, after all, just an ordinary person—a girl with, at most, a well-trained body and relatively abundant stamina.
The bitter cold quickly drained her strength.
Like a patient suffering from narcolepsy, Song Ying's eyelids kept struggling between closing and opening. She had held onto Luo Qiu from the beginning and had never let go.
Perhaps it was simply an instinctive desire to survive. There were no improper thoughts behind it; they were merely keeping each other warm.
"Porridge..."
"Porridge?"
Luo Qiu's body was also at the limit of what it could endure. He had acted on a whim this time, wanting to experience the fear of death—but he discovered that he had not felt it at all.
He had indeed "died" once before. During his first transaction, a customer had shot him dead, but he had immediately revived in the club.
Perhaps the concept of "immortality" had already taken root in his subconscious. Even his subconscious therefore felt no fear of death... It seemed this experience had been pointless. He probably would not bother with such unnecessary experiments again.
His brain seemed to have been split completely in two. One half thought rationally, while the other experienced things emotionally. And the rational half was constantly analyzing those emotional experiences.
In the end, Luo Qiu still had not truly understood what his own nature was.
"White Porridge... I know now. It was you that morning, wasn't it? You made it..."
"Mm." Since she had seen through him, Luo Qiu admitted it frankly.
Song Ying's eyes were already almost unable to open. Weakly, she asked, "How... how long have we been here?"
"Quite a while. Nearly an hour, I think."
"Not even an hour?" Song Ying seemed a little surprised, but spoke as if she were sleep-talking. "It feels... like