In the eerie silence, Wen Yanyu finished the food in his bowl and reached out to hand the porcelain bowl back to the man.
Fu Zhiyan reached out to take it with complete ease.
Their fingertips brushed by accident, as though an electric current had passed between them.
Fu Zhiyan's hand trembled slightly, and he nearly dropped the bowl.
It had only been a brief touch.
Wen Yanyu froze, his pupils abruptly contracting. At the moment of contact, if not for the feel of skin, he would have thought he had touched a block of dry ice, without the slightest warmth of a living person.
It was not the chill of an ordinarily low temperature or a cold constitution, but a coldness devoid of life.
His heart abruptly sped up, and an uncontrollable fear flooded his nerves.
It was like unknowingly wandering into a room where corpses were hidden: merely smelling the stench of decay, without even knowing what it was, would instinctively fill a person with horror.
The fear etched into human DNA, the perception of danger, was awakened by that chill.
Wen Yanyu's fingertips trembled slightly. Unease washed through him, and he could not help looking up to take another, closer look at Fu Zhiyan.
Fu Zhiyan had already turned and left with the bowl, not forgetting to gently close the door all the way behind him.
The door creaked shut.
The cold wind was shut outside.
Quiet returned to the room.
Only his heartbeat grew increasingly violent.
No one noticed anything wrong. Since it was time to rest for the night, the livestream's audience had already dwindled by more than half, with scattered comments still cheerfully chatting about what had happened outside.
[I'm dying. Dad Sang thought they were just changing filming locations, so he brought a