Chapter 183: Face-to-Face Battle 7

However, after waiting for a long time, I did not see the little figure—nor did I hear anything else. In the house, there was no such little person, only Qiao Mai alone.

He was not reconciled, and craned his neck to look around, but there was still no movement, and there was not even any conversation in the room.

After a while, the lights went out and the windows closed.

He suddenly realized—there was only one man in the room!

What about Xiaobai?

What about the legendary Xiaobai??

At that moment, he was shocked and frightened - where did Xiaobai go??

Holding a small photo in his hand, it was blurry and couldn't really be seen. He looked at it over and over again, and he didn't know what the difference was with a real person.

Qiao Mai's sister, this mysterious sister, where is she hidden?

He was surprisingly anxious: No, I must see.

However, he could not wait for any opportunity. Qiao Mai didn't give him any chance.

The night dew was already deep, the rustling of fig leaves slowly stopped, and everyone slowly fell asleep.

Yi Xiangxi leaned against a huge French plane tree, and his legs seemed to be numb. Somehow, some parts of my body began to become active, as if I was completely out of control. This restlessness has disappeared for a long, long time, and this night, there was a sudden resurgence.

In my mind, it was so clear, like a picture scroll projected one after another—it was a gentle and soft body, a woman in a big white shirt, her legs exposed, pink cursor, angry, and her face was red...... On that night, she pounced on him so hard that she broke the can...... That was his first time, and that time, he felt a faint ache -- and to this day, the subtle and joyful pain is still imprinted in his heart, and he will never forget it.

He felt thirsty, incredibly thirsty. It was as if he were pressed firmly against the scarred part of his chest—two places, emitting a diametrically opposed pain.

Just like the number he pressed in his hand, it took a lot of strength to control himself from dialing this number.

As the minutes ticked by, he slowly grossed and tiptoed, like a thief in misdeeds, quietly, quietly over the fig tree and over to the railing.

It was the guardrail of the small courtyard on the ground floor, which was only more than a meter high. This height was a no-brainer for him, and he jumped over it with his hand.

When he landed, a leaf was alarmed, and he was so nervous that his heart almost stopped beating, and he didn't dare to move.

All around, there was still no sound. Slowly, he became familiar with the dark eyes, and he could already see a little shadow in the window. He held his breath and approached.

Finally, the body pressed against the window.

He was so nervous that he couldn't help himself—the window seemed to open at once.

He did reach out, but, with a push, the window was closed tightly. He didn't exert himself, just leaned against the wall, and his violently beating heart slowly calmed down.

The night dew is getting deeper and thicker, and after midnight, there is already a slight coolness. It was surprisingly peaceful.

He had never been so peaceful in many years.

Is it close to a person? Is it the end of the past? Is it the heartbreak that goes down with the knife?

He didn't know, just sat down cross-legged and silently on the cold floor tiles.

A gust of wind rose, and a fig leaf slowly fell on his head and then on his shoulder. He didn't move, slowly closing his eyes.