Zhou Chenghai walked through the living room on his way to his wing of the house and saw that Rouxi was on the couch where he had left her.
Of course she was.
She lay sprawled across the cushions in that particular way she had. One leg was bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Her phone was held above her face at an angle that spoke of the ability to hold it there for hours without her arms tiring, and a bag of chips sat open on her stomach, rising and falling with her breathing.
In addition to her watching something on her phone, the television was on, some drama playing out with overwrought music and dramatic camera angles, but she wasn't watching it.
She was just scrolling. Eating. Existing in that bubble of detached comfort that seemed to define her entire life.
Chenghai paused for half a second, watching her.
