At this point, Song Qingshu could only put on the air of a dead pig unafraid of boiling water. "You flatter me, my lady. Your husband has always been quite charming. Doesn't that just prove how good your taste is?"
Zhou Zhiruo suddenly let out a faint sigh. "I've suddenly realized that the old Qingshu, the one who loved only me, was much more pleasing to look at."
Song Qingshu had previously vaguely hinted at the truth of his identity. Since Zhou Zhiruo had never held much affection for the original Song Qingshu, she had not cared too much about it. But now that the matter had been brought up again, the atmosphere suddenly became rather awkward.
Song Qingshu smiled faintly and leaned over, gathering her warm, soft body into his embrace. "Then, Zhiruo, do you prefer the old me or the current me?"
"The current you would be perfect if you were a little more devoted... Ah?" Zhou Zhiruo suddenly cried out sweetly. "You rogue... Don't put your hand in there."
The bedclothes churned, and another fierce battle ensued. After a long while, Zhou Zhiruo, her face flushed, weakly and languidly pushed the man off her. Somewhat resentfully, she said, "You rogue... There's still a dead man on the bed, yet you're in the mood for this."
Only then did Song Qingshu remember the Brocade-Robed Young Master he had hidden in a corner of the bed. He could not help looking toward that tragic, pitiful fellow. "I wonder who he was, and who that black-clad man who killed him was."
As she dressed, Zhou Zhiruo frowned. "Hero's Island has far too many secrets. What should we do next?"
"Hero's Island is filled with experts. If our identities are exposed, we may find it difficult to leave this place alive.