First, then, love.

This position brought him and Shu Yao, who was sitting on the sofa, at eye level.

The candlelight shone upwards on his face, outlining his deep-set eyes and straight nose. His strong features, under the warm light, surprisingly revealed a rare softness.

"Give me your hand." He extended his right hand, his broad palm outstretched.

Shu Yao was stunned.

She looked at him warily. "What?"

"Give it to me." His tone became more forceful, carrying an unyielding domineering air.

Shu Yao hesitated for a moment, then slowly extended her left hand.

He Zheng grabbed her hand.

His hands were large, hot, and his palms were dry.

It enveloped her icy little hands like a hot stone, instantly dispelling the chill from her fingertips.

He Zheng lowered his head and, by the candlelight, carefully examined her left hand.

Such beautiful hands, with long, slender fingers, well-proportioned bones and flesh, and skin so white it glows.

His gaze lingered on her fingertips.

Index finger, middle finger, ring finger, little finger.

The tips of all four fingers showed obvious signs of hardening and whitening.

Because of the constant pressing and rubbing of the steel strings, the skin becomes chafed, bleeds, and then scabs over, eventually forming a thick layer of keratin.

The cellist's calluses.

He Zheng extended his right thumb.

The rough pads of his fingers pressed against the thin callus on the tip of her index finger.

I gently stroked it.

It's hard and inelastic.

"Did you get this from practicing the piano?" He looked up at her, his dark eyes reflecting two tiny flames.

"Nonsense, what else would I do?" Shu Yao tried to pull her hand back.

But He Zheng held on tightly, not moving an inch.

He continued to rub the thin calluses on her fingertips slowly, one stroke at a time, with his thumb.

The movements were slow and meticulous.

The calluses on Shu Yao's fingertips, though hard, were small in area.

He Zheng's fingers were covered with thin calluses.

The area between his thumb and index finger, the inside of his index finger, and the center of his palm are all marks left from years of holding guns and practicing combat.

The calluses on the faces of SWAT snipers are marks of gunpowder and blood and sweat.

Two completely different cocoons rubbed and collided with each other under the candlelight.

Roughness grinds roughness, hardness scrapes hardness.

Although there was a thick layer of stratum corneum between us, I didn't feel much pain.

However, the sensation of friction is amplified infinitely through the nerve endings.

"hiss……"

Shu Yao gasped.

This touch was too intimate.

It sends shivers down your spine even more than touching smooth skin directly.

He Zheng noticed her trembling.

He stopped what he was doing, looked up, and gazed intently at her.

"Does it hurt?" His voice was so low and hoarse that it was almost unbelievable, yet it had a deadly magnetic quality in the quiet living room.

"It doesn't hurt, let go..." Shu Yao's voice trembled, and her cheeks quickly flushed red in the candlelight.

She forcefully pulled her hand back.

At that moment, He Zheng suddenly tightened his grip on his fingers.

His rough, large hands completely and tightly enveloped her small left hand in his palms.

Then, he lowered his head and pressed her calloused fingers directly against his cheek.

The stubble was prickly, and my skin felt burning hot.

"He Zheng!" Shu Yao exclaimed in surprise, her heart pounding wildly.

He Zheng ignored her panic.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against the roughness of her fingertips.

Then, he opened his eyes again and pressed his thumb against the calluses on her fingertips once more.

This time, the force was increased, and the frequency of friction also increased.

The rough calluses from the gun, still carrying the man's burning body heat, pressed hard against the flesh on her fingertips.

Once, twice.

Their breaths mingled.

The candlelight flickered, and the tingling sensation from their skin touching traveled from her fingertips all the way to Shuyao's heart.

The dim candlelight flickered between the two, and the air felt thick and viscous, as if it were about to be drawn into threads.

Shu Yao's heart was pounding wildly, and her blood was rushing to her eardrums, making a buzzing sound.

He was too close; his masculine scent, like an impenetrable net, enveloped her completely.

Just as He Zheng's face turned slightly, his nose almost touching her cheek.

A crisp sound of electricity being switched on rang out.

Immediately afterwards, the huge, unattended lamp overhead lit up instantly.

The glaring lights suddenly flooded the living room.

The darkness was torn apart by violence.

In the corner, the refrigerator compressor started humming again, and the air purifier began to run.

The power is back on.

The sudden burst of bright light made Shu Yao instinctively close her eyes.

Once illuminated by the light, the ambiguous atmosphere, like a punctured ball, instantly deflated completely.

Shu Yao suddenly woke up.

She pulled hard, yanking her hand out of his large palm.

My palms were covered in cold sweat.

"The...the power's back on," she stammered, quickly shrinking into the corner of the sofa to create distance between them.

He Zheng's hand was hanging in mid-air.

The dark glint in his eyes hadn't completely faded, and he squinted slightly when the bright light shone on them.

He slowly closed his fingers, clenched them into a fist, and brought them back to his side.

He stood up and looked down at the woman.

"Okay, go to bed early."

His voice was terribly hoarse, revealing his displeasure at being interrupted.

He turned around, walked to the coffee table, and blew out the scented candle in one breath.

He strode back to the master bedroom.