SES Chapter 147 Part 2

She didn’t answer, but glanced sideways. His arm, resting behind her, held the rope steady—creating a pillow for her head.

His arm was solid, his body warm against hers. Her heart beat wildly.

Was she really going to spend the whole night like this…?

Then her stomach growled. Loudly.

Embarrassed, Mu Dai mumbled, “I’m just… hungry.”

Luo Ren said nothing, but he patted his pockets—more out of habit than hope—and, to his surprise, felt a crinkle of plastic.

He remembered: back at the store, he’d bought two chocolate bars. He’d eaten one and saved the other.

A small stroke of luck.

Just as he was about to pull it out, the hammock swayed violently. Mu Dai was fidgeting again. “I’m just tightening my belt,” she explained. “Makes me feel less hungry.”

Luo Ren shook his head, amused, and decided to wait.

Mu Dai sighed softly. She was half-murmuring, half-daydreaming.

“I want soup dumplings,” she said. “Shrimp filling, just a little crab roe, thin skin, hot broth inside—bite it open, sip the soup, then dip it in vinegar…”

She was imagining food to distract herself. It almost worked. Even Luo Ren started feeling hungry.

“And roast duck,” she went on. “Have you ever had it, Luo Ren? I haven’t. Aunt Hong has. She said the meat’s tender, the skin golden and crisp. You slice it thin and wrap it in a lotus pancake with scallions and sweet sauce, then take a bite…”

“My stomach’s caving in…”

Luo Ren burst out laughing and, before thinking, placed his hand lightly on her stomach.

Her skin was cold, soft under his palm—and he froze. He suddenly remembered seeing earlier that her shirt hem was torn.

“You’re hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Just a few scrapes.”

He moved more carefully now, fingers tracing the uninjured skin.

He didn’t mean to, but in those small, gentle motions, he could feel the curve of her waist, the smooth plane of her stomach, and the faint rhythm of her breathing in the dark.

Outside, the rain fell on stone—steady, endless, and soft.

Inside, neither of them spoke again. The world shrank to the quiet creak of the ropes and the sound of two hearts trying to rest in the dark.

Luo Ren’s throat felt dry.

Before he could gather his thoughts, Mu Dai spoke softly. “The ancients really did know what they were talking about.”

He froze for a second, his hand stilling in mid-air. What was she talking about? That men were creatures of appetite and desire?

“I mean,” she said faintly, “only when people are full and warm do they start thinking about… other things. I’m starving right now, so I can’t really feel much of anything.”

Her calm, almost matter-of-fact tone made something in him stir—half frustration, half amusement. He sighed, his pulse quickening despite himself.

Mu Dai turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for the briefest moment. The air between them grew tense, heavy with everything unspoken.

He hesitated for a long time, then leaned in closer. “Now,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “can you feel something?”

She didn’t answer, but her breathing hitched. For a moment, neither of them moved. Outside, the rain had quieted; only the soft creak of the ropes echoed through the cave, marking the fragile space between them.

Luo Ren studied her face in the dim light—the nervous brightness in her eyes, the way her lips parted as if to speak. Something tender replaced the heat in his chest.

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek and whispered, “Let me take you home someday, all right?”

Mu Dai caught her breath, then abruptly sat up, lips pressed together. “I’m not sleeping next to you anymore,” she said.

A quiet laugh escaped him. “All right. I’ll sleep on the ground.”

He climbed down, steadying the rope bed as it swayed. When it finally stilled, he leaned close again, his voice gentle.

“Here,” he said, holding something to her lips.

She blinked, confused, until the faint taste of sweetness melted on her tongue—a small piece of chocolate.