Who Put Zhu Zhuqing in My Arms?!

The next morning.

Dawn was just breaking, and the first ray of sunlight slipped through a gap in the tent, casting a long, narrow band of golden light across the ground.

A few crisp birdcalls drifted from the distant forest. Dew slid from blades of grass and splashed into the soil with sounds too faint to hear.

Driven by his reliable internal clock, Yang Jian opened his eyes right on time.

Before his mind had fully awakened, he sensed that something was off.

There seemed to be something extra on him—heavy, warm, and carrying an indescribably soft touch.

He instinctively lowered his head. The first thing that entered his sight was a mass of glossy black hair, silky as satin.

The strands were delicate and smooth, gleaming faintly in the morning light. A few lay scattered across his chest and shoulders, rising and falling with her steady breathing.

Zhu Zhuqing?

Yang Jian was instantly wide awake.

A faint fragrance drifted up from his arms. It was not strong, yet it was exceptionally clear.

Like a secluded orchid quietly blooming in a deep valley, cool and carrying the faintest trace of sweetness, it rushed into Yang Jian's nose and instantly cleared away the haze in his mind.

Yang Jian's first reaction was confusion.

Why was Zhu Zhuqing in his arms?

He tilted his head slightly and swept his gaze across the tent.

He clearly remembered that before falling asleep last night, he had deliberately chosen the spot nearest the outside of the tent, leaving roughly a fist's distance between himself and Zhu Zhuqing.

He had always slept properly and rarely moved around in his sleep. Yet he was clearly still in his original position, his back pressed against the edge of the tent, without having shifted inward in the slightest.

In other words, Zhu Zhuqing had somehow ended up in his arms without his knowledge?

That realization gave Yang Jian a somewhat peculiar expression.

He looked down at the girl still asleep in his arms. Her profile rested against his chest, her long lashes casting fan-shaped shadows beneath her eyes. Her breathing was even and deep; she was clearly sleeping soundly.

Her face, usually as cold as frost, had shed all its vigilance and distance in sleep. It looked unexpectedly gentle and peaceful.

But Yang Jian quickly realized that what he should be considering now was not why Zhu Zhuqing had ended up in his arms, but how to quietly carry her back to her original spot before she woke up.

If she discovered that she had taken the initiative to crawl into his arms... Yang Jian truly did not dare imagine what an embarrassed expression that cool face would show.

He took a deep breath and began to act.

The first issue was his arm.

At some point, Zhu Zhuqing had pulled his left arm into her embrace, clutching it tightly with both hands as though she were holding onto a beloved doll and refused to let go.

A warm, soft sensation wrapped around his arm. Through a layer of black leather clothing, he could clearly feel her softness and her steady heartbeat.

Yang Jian held his breath and began slowly pulling his arm free, little by little.

His movements were exceptionally light and slow. Every time he moved even the slightest bit, he paused to see whether Zhu Zhuqing had noticed.

Pulling his arm from her embrace was like drawing a soaked thread from water—it required the utmost patience and gentleness.

Almost there, almost there...

The warm softness gradually faded, replaced by the cool morning air.

After more than a full minute, Yang Jian finally freed his left arm from Zhu Zhuqing's embrace.

He secretly let out a breath. A fine layer of sweat had already formed on his forehead.

But this was far from over.

Next, he needed to carry Zhu Zhuqing herself back to her original position.

Yang Jian carefully slid his right arm beneath Zhu Zhuqing's neck, while his left arm passed beneath the crook of her legs.

Her body was very light—so light that Yang Jian's heart stirred slightly. These past few days of fleeing had surely caused her no small amount of hardship.

With the gentlest movement possible, he slowly lifted Zhu Zhuqing.

Her head naturally rested against the hollow of his shoulder. A few strands of hair brushed against his jaw, carrying a faint fragrance.

Yang Jian tried his best to keep his movements steady, afraid that even the slightest jolt would wake the person in his arms.

The tent was not large. From his current position to Zhu Zhuqing's original place was only a short distance away.

Yet over that brief stretch, Yang Jian moved with extraordinary care, every step as light as though he were walking on clouds.

Just as he bent down, intending to place Zhu Zhuqing back in her original spot, those long lashes suddenly fluttered twice.

Like the beating wings of a butterfly, her thick lashes trembled faintly in the morning light and slowly lifted.

Yang Jian froze in place.

He remained bent over, both hands still supporting Zhu Zhuqing's body, motionless as though someone had cast a binding spell on him.

He even forgot to breathe. He could only stare blankly as those lashes rose bit by bit, revealing a pair of bright eyes like black gemstones.

Those eyes were crystal clear, reflecting the weave of the tent ceiling—and Yang Jian's utterly flustered face.

Their eyes met.

The air seemed to freeze at that moment.

Yang Jian's mind went blank. Every thought came to a halt.

He could feel his heartbeat accelerating, pounding against his chest with a thump, thump, thump, so loudly that he suspected Zhu Zhuqing could hear it perfectly clearly.

"If I said this was a misunderstanding..."

Yang Jian forced a bitter smile, his voice dry as sandpaper scraping together.

He braced himself and continued in a tone that even he found guilty.

"Would you believe me?"

He had expected Zhu Zhuqing to be angry, embarrassed, to shove him away forcefully and then slap him hard across the face.

He had even prepared himself to endure all of it. After all, regardless of the reason, no woman could calmly accept waking up to find herself held in a man's arms.

Yet Zhu Zhuqing's reaction completely exceeded his expectations.

She did not struggle, did not resist, and did not show the slightest anger or embarrassment.

She simply lay quietly in Yang Jian's arms, looking at him with those bright eyes. Her rosy lips parted, and her voice was soft yet unusually resolute.

"I believe you."

Only three words.

Brief and plain, yet carrying an unwavering trust.

Her voice was like a gentle breeze brushing lightly over Yang Jian's heart, sweeping away all his unease and anxiety.

He was visibly stunned, an indescribable warmth rising within him.

She had not even asked whether it truly was a misunderstanding before saying those three words, "I believe you," without the slightest hesitation.

That wholehearted trust left Yang Jian at a loss for what to do.