At eleven o'clock at night, all was silent.
Li Qiao lay in Shang Yu's arms, drifting into sleep.
The bedroom was dark, and with eyes open, only vague contours could be seen.
In a state between dreams and reality, the vibration of her phone woke Li Qiao completely.
She frowned and stirred slightly, while Shang Yu, holding her shoulder, patted her gently and reached for the phone. It was an unfamiliar number from Myanmar.
The man lowered his head, kissed Li Qiao's forehead, and slid to answer, "Who's this?"
On the other end of the line, there was no immediate response, only rapid and suppressed breathing, sounding especially eerie in the deep of night.
Shang Yu slowly lifted his eyelids, a ripple stirred in his eyes but vanished instantly.
His throat moved as he cut off the call.
Li Qiao didn't ask, and Shang Yu didn't explain. This strange late-night call wasn't enough to stir their desire to discuss.
...
Then, early the next morning, Li Qiao received a call from Shang Lu.
