"I'm cold!"
In the dead of night, just as Zhou Fan was about to drift off to sleep, he heard Chu Qianqian's faint voice beside him.
Zhou Fan sighed helplessly. He walked over to the dead Sixth Son, took the man's clothes off, and offered them to Chu Qianqian.
Chu Qianqian glanced at them and shook her head.
"Miss, just make do with these. I can't very well give you the rags I'm wearing, can I?" Zhou Fan knew she was grossed out—they were a dead man's clothes—but what choice did they have?
Back in his early days of fighting abroad, he'd done far worse than wear a dead man's clothes. Sometimes, to complete a mission, he even had to lie down with corpses.
"Well, if you don't mind, you can borrow my shoulder." Seeing her just keep shaking her head, Zhou Fan was out of ideas. He sat down right next to her and patted his shoulder.
Chu Qianqian hesitated for a moment before gently resting her head on Zhou Fan's shoulder.
