The Overlord Flower's Guide to Intercepting a Woman's Wife's Death and the Male Lead&

Late at night.

After washing the dishes and wiping the stove clean, Zhou Bingheng even scraped the bottom of the pot.

Su Xingmian followed him through the door.

She had seen the layout of the house that afternoon.

The heated kang (a traditional heated brick bed) is located on the east side, right next to the stove, so the residual heat from cooking directly warms the kang.

The solid wood bed is on the west side, by the window.

Zhou Bingheng walked to the bed, spread out the quilt and shook it, and patted the pillow.

"The bed is for you."

Then he turned and walked towards the heated brick bed, and took out another set of bedding from the cabinet.

Su Xingmian stood in the middle of the room, without moving.

She walked to the bedside, reached under the covers and pressed down. The mattress was thick, the cotton was freshly fluffed, and it rebounded very slowly.

It's cold.

He then walked to the heated kang (a traditional heated brick bed) and placed his palm on it.

Hot.

The residual heat from the stove seeped into the kang (a heated brick bed) along the flue, and every inch of the blue bricks radiated heat outwards.

The bed he made for her was hand-picked from the old stock that no one else wanted in the warehouse, and the bed legs were raised by half an inch.

But this bed is cold.

"elder brother."

Zhou Bingheng looked up when he had folded the blanket halfway through.

Su Xingmian gripped her sleeves with both hands, her face tug-of-war between hesitation and anticipation.

"Can a kang (heated brick bed) sleep two people?"

The edge of the bedding slipped an inch from his hands.

He turned to look at her, his expression completely unchanged.

"Can."

There was a pause.

"But we're not married yet."

Su Xingmian tilted her head.

"But I'm cold."

Those four words were delivered with unwavering conviction.

Zhou Bingheng stared at her for two seconds.

He put down the half-folded quilt, walked to the cabinet, rummaged around for a while, and took out a copper thermos. The body of the thermos was polished to a shine, and there was an old weld mark around the bottom.

I went to the kitchen and heard the sound of water running for a while.

When he returned, the pot was bulging and the outside was hot to the touch. He wrapped it in a towel twice, stuffed it into the quilt, and pressed his palm on the quilt to spread the heat outwards.

"Let's use this for now."

The voice was lowered by half a tone compared to usual.

Su Xingmian took the thermos and held it in her arms.

The heat from the copper wall seeped through the towel; it was warm.

But a thermos can't keep up with the warmth of a living person.

She wanted to speak, but saw that Zhou Bingheng had already returned to the kang (a heated brick bed), turning his back to her as he smoothed out and tucked the quilt into place.

Forget it.

She climbed onto the bed with the pot in her arms and huddled under the covers.

The lights went out.

A sliver of moonlight shone through the window crack, falling on the floor between the bed and the kang (heated brick bed).

Su Xingmian lay in the darkness, her eyes open.

A layer of demonic power gently spread outwards.

He lay flat on the kang (a heated brick bed), his hands outside the quilt, breathing evenly, his heart beating 68 times per minute.

There was no snoring.

Su Xingmian mentally added one point to his score.

Twenty minutes later, my body started to feel unwell.

The thermos dissipates heat quickly; the copper walls go from scalding hot to lukewarm, and then from lukewarm to cool, causing the warmth in the quilt to fade along with it.

In October, temperatures in Northwest China drop to near zero in the latter half of the night.

Su Xingmian's body temperature began to drop.

The flower bud tightened its petals deep within its soul, its roots retreated, and the consumption of demonic energy gradually increased as the temperature dropped, causing the body to automatically enter energy-saving mode.

She turned over, then over again, pulling the blanket tighter and loosening it, then loosening it again and pulling it tighter.

The thermos was moved from left to right, from chest level to toe, and the inside of the thermos was now almost at body temperature.

She bit the corner of the blanket, her ten fingers curled together.

A sound came from the kang (a heated brick bed).

"come over."

Two words, neither high nor low, spoken lazily, with eyes closed.

Su Xingmian paused for a moment under the covers.

She sat up, glanced at her own bedding on the bed, and then at him on the kang (a heated brick bed).

I hesitated for three seconds.

She first hugged the pillow to her chest, then scooped up her blanket as well, clumsily gathering it into a large bundle.

He carried his bedding and walked three steps to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

He had moved to the inside, making room on the outside half of the wall, and was facing the wall with his body turned to the side, leaving her with only his broad back.

The heat from the kang (heated brick bed) seeped out from the cracks in the blue bricks, and the warmth that surged up from the soles of her feet when she stepped on it almost made her legs go weak.

She laid out her pillow and blanket in the empty space, then crawled inside.

The heat from the heated kang (a traditional heated brick bed) rose up from beneath her, evenly, densely, and gently supporting her entire body.

The flower bud unfurled its petals inside, and its roots stretched out, greedily reaching towards the heat.

She buried her face in the pillow and bit down hard on the fabric to keep her lips from turning up too much.

"Still cold?"

The sound came from the side, muffled.

"It's not cold anymore."

"Go to sleep."

He didn't move again, nor did he turn around.

The two people were thirty centimeters apart.

Su Xingmian stared at the 30-centimeter gap for a while.

There were two blankets, each person had their own.

There were two pillows, one for each person.

There was nothing within those thirty centimeters except for the blue bricks on the kang (a heated brick bed) and a ray of moonlight.

His body temperature radiated from thirty centimeters away, almost imperceptibly.

Thirty centimeters, and you can't even touch the roots when it's buried underground.

She closed her eyes, and her breathing slowly became longer.

The kang (heated brick bed) is so warm.

Under the catalysis of a stable heat source, the demonic energy automatically begins to circulate, slowly flowing through the meridians.

My consciousness sank down little by little.

She fell asleep.

Late at night.

Su Xingmian turned over.

The flower buds unfurled on their own to the fifth layer, their demonic power becoming increasingly active, catalyzed by the heat of the heated kang.

She was sleeping too soundly.

My fingers peeked out from under the covers and unconsciously reached towards the heat source.

It crossed 30 centimeters.

My fingertips touched the back of his hand.

The moment she touched her, a wisp of green life seeped from her fingertips. It was invisible to the naked eye, but it was there, seeping into the skin's texture.

Zhou Bingheng paused for a moment.

He didn't open his eyes.

The hand that touched me was very cold.

But beneath the skin at the point of contact, a warm sensation seeped in from the back of his hand, traveled up the blood vessels, through his forearm, through the elbow, and reached the injured area on his left upper arm.

Underneath the gauze, the stitched wound began to itch, new muscle fibers bulged out at the edges of the wound, and the wound was healing at an impossible speed.

The warmth continued its journey, passing over my shoulders and turning into my chest.

My heart skipped a beat, stronger than usual.

I felt completely enveloped, inside and out, so comfortable that even my bones felt relaxed.

Zhou Bingheng wanted to raise his hand.

He should take her hand away.

The moment the thought crossed my mind, the fragrance of the flowers wafted up, the same one I had smelled in the tent during the day.

It was rich and intense, unlike any flower he knew.

My consciousness began to feel heavy, pressing down from my temples to the back of my head.

He raised his hand halfway and then stopped.

He barely managed to tilt his head slightly.

Su Xingmian had already rolled past that thirty centimeters, curled up into a ball, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her fingers clinging to the back of his hand, her breath spraying into the hollow of his collarbone.

The fragrance of flowers emanating from her grew stronger.

Zhou Bingheng's consciousness tugged between wakefulness and sleep for a few seconds.

He tried to push her away, but the moment his fingers touched her shoulder, the fragrance of flowers rushed up and filled his nostrils.

He put his hand on her shoulder and didn't push her away.

He bent his finger, hooked it slightly, and then let it hang down.

The next second, her breathing became longer, and her eyelids could no longer stay open and closed.

The bandage on his arm was still itchy, but new flesh was growing quietly.

Su Xingmian huddled beside him, the flower buds had opened to the fifth and a half layers.

The copper thermos had long since gone cold, lying alone on the empty bed on the west side.

The moonlight outside the window shifted an inch, falling on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), illuminating the two people's overlapping shadows.

Before dawn, the seeds of the night-blooming cereus silently broke through the soil in the flowerpots at the base of the courtyard wall.

A tender green bud has sprouted out.