Qin An pushed open the door, his heart involuntarily quickening its beat. His mood grew restless too—a rare thing for an assassin, yet he couldn’t explain it.
He instinctively glanced at Qin Yage on the bed. Huddled under the covers, she shifted slightly.
"Yage, are you asleep?" Qin An sat on the edge, asking a foolishly obvious question. Whenever she was moody, he felt utterly clueless—like a mouse facing an immovable object. Only lollipops or his shoulder could calm her fury.
Qin Yage, lazy as a worm, didn’t even lift the covers. She turned over and muttered, "I’m asleep."
"Oh…" Qin An didn’t laugh. He worried how to reply to her "asleep" claim.
"Good, good you’re asleep. Then I’ll sleep too…"
He checked his clothes—neatly dressed—and slipped under the covers. Lying on his side with his back to her, he felt no sleepiness. Sharing a bed felt awkward, though he couldn’t say why. Maybe the familiar quilt now held that unforgettable milky scent.
After a long while, he felt Qin Yage turn over. Was she still awake?
Qin An stiffened as she pressed her flat chest against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist.
"Brother, are you asleep?" she whispered.
"Asleep," he replied, eyes closed, adding fake snores like a pig.
"Go die! If you’re asleep, how’d you answer? Think I’m three?"
"You did the same earlier."
"Hmph, you and I are different. I can do that; you can’t."
Utterly unreasonable, as always.
"What about Dongfang? Really not sleeping with her?"
"Let her die! She’s not a kid. Slept here last night anyway."
"Then she’s the one who got you like that too, right?"
"Mm…"
Qin Yage’s voice was faint as a mosquito’s buzz. Remembering it, her face flushed, her body burning hot.
Qin An noticed and asked, "What’s wrong? You’re warm like a hot water bottle."
"Hmph, I am one. I’ll burn you."
"But you’re only useful in winter. Rest of the year, you’re stored away."
"Hmph, you’re the stored one! Insulting me? Fine: a hundred lollipops."
"I recall you saying something similar when little. ‘Brother, I’ll be your hot water bottle for life.’"
"Bro, you’re a pervert! Nonsense!" She pinched his waist hard but didn’t let go. Shyly, she whispered, "Bro, millet porridge tomorrow morning?"
"Okay."
"Buy me candy tomorrow?"
"No."
"Skip milk tomorrow?"
"Of course not."
Lately, Qin An replaced her candy with pure whole milk to fight cavities—not that sugary yogurt drink. Qin Yage loved and hated it: it let her eat sweets but had no sugar itself.
"Why never answer wrong?"
"Probably ’cause I’m handsome," he said shamelessly.
"Go die, Brother! That’s got nothing to do with handsome—not half a lollipop’s worth!" She paused. "Hey, bro, Happy Valley tomorrow?"
"Why Happy Valley? Shouldn’t you just eat candy, read romance novels, and stay home?"
"How dare you ask why? Did you spend time with me during May Day? My classmate’s brother took her traveling! You’re a terrible brother."
Like a neglected concubine, she listed his "crimes," nails drawing circles on his back. Her pitiful look was beyond words.
Guilt hit Qin An. Since rebirth, he hadn’t properly been with her.
"Alright, decided. Happy Valley tomorrow. Tickets are 20% off during May Day; kids’ half price."
"I want the 20% off ticket. Half price is for diaper-wearing toddlers."
"Got it, big sister Qin Yage. Late now—sleep."
Qin An tried to turn over and stretch, escaping the closeness. But Qin Yage blocked him, pressing a thigh onto him.
"Sleep like this," she commanded.
Just a child, she’d held her breath until securing Happy Valley. Then she drifted off.
Her sleep was awful—kicking covers, hogging them, twisting ninety degrees. Qin An didn’t mind, tucking her in or repositioning her.
Unconsciously, he faced her.
He studied her thoughtfully: long lashes, tiny nose, rosy lips, that milky candy scent. Not childish, yet just an ungrown girl. Sometimes silly as an idiot; other times cunning as a fox over half a lollipop.
He knew her body—every mole, her measurements—but not her heart’s desires. His past life’s greatest regret.
This life, he’d spend it making up.
He kissed her forehead, held her restless form, and fell asleep.
Qin An had an incredibly long dream—a wet dream.
He woke in terror, sweat-drenched, staring at the white ceiling. His heart raced wildly. An accident had happened in his pants.
The cold, damp underwear made him uneasy. In his past life, taken early to Doville, he rarely had such hormone-filled dreams—he’d never lacked women.
But tonight? Was it pent-up tension? A ten-year-old body housed an uncle-level killer.
Qin Yage slept sweetly, curled under his armpit like a little worm. Her arms rested on his waist, soft breath warming his skin.
Pressed against him, she made him slowly stroke her cool neck and back.
Gently touched, she whimpered in sleep, shifted slightly, then stilled.
