Lu Mi dragged his heavy body around, opening every box and cabinet in the room, even if he had to bite the handles to do it.
He also found ways to read some of the books on the shelves.
By the time the morning had passed, he collapsed onto the carpet, panting.
He couldn't say he had found nothing.
Everything he had seen fit Yu Qingchen's artistic temperament: literature, brushes, paints, rice paper, sheet music, and so on.
Was this a dead end?
Lu Mi tilted his head, once again staring at the heap of chains beneath the bed.
Was that something a normal couple would keep in their home?
The hourglass flipped over again, beginning another countdown.
Zheng Sinian would soon come to make him drink his third glass of water.
He closed his eyes wearily, and a question suddenly popped into his mind:
If he really fell asleep, would Zheng Sinian let his partner sleep peacefully, or wake him up and force him to drink that glass of water?
During breakfast, Zheng Sinian had helped him, wiped his mouth, and watched him with apparent concern, but his gaze and every exchange between them had been icy from beginning to end.
Zheng Sinian hadn't shown him the slightest affection, nothing like the way someone would treat a person they truly loved.
At that thought, Lu Mi's eyes snapped open. At the same moment, the last grain of sand fell through the hourglass.
The door opened, and a pair of leather shoes came into view.
Zheng Sinian bent down and held out the glass of water.
"Qingchen, have some water."
He was still smiling, but from his low vantage point, Lu Mi spotted traces of blood inside his rolled-up trouser cuffs.
He had killed someone.
In other words, just as