As for what Zhang Chulan had gone through that day, there was no way to know. For now.
Anyway, when the first rays of sunlight began to spill across the city the following morning, Xu San quickly wrapped up his not-so-hectic morning duties. With a complicated mix of feelings and anticipation, he hurried to Annie's enormous villa. But the moment he stepped inside, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.
There was Zhang Chulan—the usually energetic young man, always brimming with vitality—slumped lifelessly across the sofa like a frostbitten eggplant.
His hair was a mess, a few strands stuck to his forehead. Dried sweat covered his head, leaving him looking rumpled and wretched.
His face was unnaturally pale, like a dead tree that hadn't seen sunlight in ages. His eyes were shut tight, and deep, dark circles shadowed them. Xu San didn't need to guess that Zhang Chulan had slept badly last night—or maybe hadn't slept at all.
"..."
Xu San hesitated, but in the end he still stepped lightly toward him.
Then Xu San noticed that Zhang Chulan's body kept twitching now and then. Each spasm seemed like the last shred of strength left in his body struggling to break free from endless exhaustion and drowsiness. His chest rose and fell faintly, and he mumbled words that were too quiet to make out, as if he were refusing something even in his sleep.
"Heh!"
After observing him for a while, Xu San could roughly guess why Zhang Chulan looked the way he did. He finally let out a rare, gleeful chuckle and remarked in a way that could easily be misconstrued:
"Looks like..."
"Those three women really put him through the wringer last night!"
After all, Xu San knew Zhang Chulan was usually a highly disciplined