The second before the white light swallowed up his consciousness, Ji Xing held Lin Wan's hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The touch was not as cold and hard as crystallized skin should be, but instead had a bit of the most natural warmth of the human body, like a hand warmer in his pocket in the cold winter, which made his heart tremble. He heard his own voice explode in the roar. It was not a tactical command or a system prompt. It was the words he had held in for almost half a year, wrapped in the smell of gunpowder smoke and blood, hitting Lin Wan's red ear: "Wait until I get home."
