Her consciousness floated upward slowly, as if from the bottom of a warm spring.
Li Zhi was woken by a peculiar sense of pressure and warmth.
The winter morning sun, slipping through a gap in the curtains, had already shifted across the room, carrying the lazy warmth of the afternoon.
The soft light painted her closed eyelids, casting a hazy, reddish glow.
First came sound.
A steady, powerful heartbeat pulsed against her eardrum—thump after thump, solid and warm, like the most dependable rhythm.
Next, the clearer, longer sound of breathing, carrying a young man's unique, crisp scent, fanned evenly across the crown of her head and her temples.
Then, touch.
Her cheek wasn't resting against the cool, soft pillowcase she expected, but against the warm fabric of clothing.
With each breath, that warmth seeped through a thin cashmere sweater, making her cheeks burn.
A heavy arm was wrapped around her waist from behind.
