Chapter 10: 10

Six Dragons (2)

According to the original plot, she was supposed to be stabbed to death by Ao Qin tonight, but now, although she had been momentarily crushed by Ao Qin’s spiritual power, she had only sustained some light injuries. She even acquired a monthly budget and some elixirs—while they were not much, she could still get by if she calculated carefully and made every bit count. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad a deal.

Mu Wanwan thought as she stood before Mister Long’s evil appearance that was marred by black and red lines, and her brows gradually relaxed.

In the original body’s memory, the tyrant’s sleeping quarters were not small. In addition to the main hall, there was also a side hall, an attached courtyard, a kitchen and a bathroom, but Mister Long generally did not use them very much.

Searching through her memory, Mu Wanwan found the small kitchen in the side hall, and was somewhat delighted to find that there was still a sack of rice that was meant for servants to eat. She mixed it with a small handful of spiritual grains and cooked half a pot of congee.

Not staying idle while waiting for the congee to cook, she fetched some water and wiped the other half of the jade bed clean.

After all this was done, Mu Wanwan was so tired she couldn’t even lift her fingers. By now, the sky was also completely dark. Bai Shuiyao still did not appear in the sleeping quarters, and Mu Wanwan didn’t know if she had run away as planned or gave up on escaping. However, she wasn’t worried about what would happen to Bai Shuiyao. After all, Bai Shuiyao had a heroine’s aura, and wouldn’t die no matter what.

With great effort, Mu Wanwan managed to scoop a bowl of congee, and first ate a bowl herself. Although only a small handful of spiritual rice had been mixed in, drinking it made her stomach feel much more comfortable. It was nice and warm, and she regained some strength.

She rested for a moment, lit the lamp, moved the bench, then carried a bowl of congee and sat in front of the tyrant’s bed.

In the dim yellowish light, Mister Long’s somewhat frightening face seemed to have become a little softer and gentler.

His face was still very pale and his lips were still pursed, but she didn’t know if it was because of that little bit of congee in the morning, they didn’t look so dry anymore, though the bruises were still there. Mu Wanwan gently squeezed his chin and fed him the congee spoon by spoon.

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She wasn’t sure if it was just her illusion, but she somehow felt like the Mister Long of tonight was swallowing much faster than he did in the morning.

Even so, a lot of congee still leaked out of his mouth and slid down his chin, leaving a watery trail.

Mu Wanwan reached her fingers out unthinkingly and skimmed over his nicely-shaped chin, wiping away the soup stains. She mused aloud to herself, “It’s a good thing you’re asleep. This would probably become your life’s dark history, right?”

Mu Wanwan didn’t notice that a certain dragon’s eyelashes were quivering lightly. As she spoke, she somehow felt it was a little funny, yet a little heartbreaking, and whispered, “Speaking of which, I still don’t know your name… How about this— I’ll call you Mister Long from now on. The both of us can be considered to be mutually dependent on each other for survival.”

Her eyes were a little red, and her voice was also a little choked up, “When you wake up in the future, on account of the fact that I was good to you…”

Mu Wanwan couldn’t go on anymore; she wiped away her tears shamefully. “Really, I…… what am I doing, talking to a comatose dragon.”

She packed away her unpleasant emotions. Perhaps it was because the room was too desolate, or maybe it was because she was too lonely, she began rambling again, “Mister Long, I’ll tend to your wounds in a while. I’ll be putting some medicine on them, it will probably hurt a lot.”

“Mister Long, we have very little money, and we may have to go hungry in the future…”

Her voice was very soft; everything she went on about was about the future of them two. Like rolling hot lava, the words poured into his eardrums— little by little, making an uproar in that ice-cold heart that was full of brambly thorns.

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