The first year of Chuping, February 1st, 190 AD. Early morning.
Yin Kuang woke naturally from his sleep, only to realize that each of his hands was still holding a soft mound of flesh. The exquisite sensation made him give them an involuntary squeeze. They were astonishingly elastic and smooth, soft without leaving any greasy feeling on his hands—truly creations blessed by heaven and earth. But it was merely an instinctive action on Yin Kuang's part—few men could remain uninterested in those two soft mounds, especially when they were right in their hands. In truth, however, Yin Kuang sighed.
Tang Rouyu gave a soft "hmph" and naturally woke as well. Hearing Yin Kuang's sigh, she rubbed her cheek against his chest and asked, "What's wrong? You're sighing first thing in the morning after waking up." As soon as Tang Rouyu spoke, Qian Qianqian woke up too. Yin Kuang blinked and said, "I have a bad feeling..."
Tang Rouyu froze. Naturally, she knew what Yin Kuang was worried about. Ever since the previous rescue of the emperor, Western God had fallen silent. Seventeen or eighteen days had passed by now. During that time, Li Shuangmu, Yin Kuang, and Tan Shengge had made several moves, but Western God simply refused to respond, causing every strike Yin Kuang's side threw to land on empty air. Gradually, Eastern Victory had found itself with no way to proceed. Such unknown and abnormal circumstances always made people uneasy.
With a thought, Tang Rouyu pressed her crimson, delicate lips lightly to Yin Kuang's chest and said, "Don't overthink it. Maybe this is their strategy to unsettle us. After all, Western God is highly unified, while we... They're probably waiting for us to develop problems ourselves. But ever since Li Shuangmu stepped in to suppress things last time,