Tuantuan's figure disappeared into the distance, and the audience switched the view back to Jiang Che's livestream.
At this moment, Jiang Che had somehow found an old, battered parasol, holding it over his head to shield himself from the blazing sun.
The morning light was harsh—the sun had been baking the earth since it rose.
Ya kept wiping sweat from her brow, and Jiang Che's face was also dotted with fine beads of sweat.
She didn't understand it: nights in the dungeon were so cold and damp, so why did the sunrise bring such suffocating heat? Mornings were supposed to be the coolest, yet now everything felt irritable, burning.
Ya wiped her sweat again, thinking: the temperature swings were so extreme, but none of the dungeon guides ever mentioned this!
She secretly glanced at Tuantuan curled up in Jiang Che's arms. Tuantuan was still sleeping when they found a parasol on the ground—dusty, smeared with bloodstains, but none of it affected its ability to block the sun.
