The noise downstairs seemed to have gradually subsided.
Tang Xiaohua lowered her head for a glance and saw that on the large bed, Zhuo Ting, bare, had a messy blanket casually draped over his and Song Xiangqiao's lower bodies.
He was leaning there, catching his breath.
Zhuo Ting was a very disciplined man, also well aware of the principle that health is the capital of the revolution; at fifty, he appeared to have a rather impressive physical condition.
His chest muscles weren't particularly prominent, but they were superior compared to many younger men.
Song Xiangqiao was leaning in his embrace, one arm around him, the other caressing his chest.
Her skin was truly creamy and flawless, like white jade without blemish.
After resting a bit, Zhuo Ting stood up and went to the bathroom to clean himself.
Song Xiangqiao still lay on the bed; she opened the drawer of the bedside table, took out a box of pills, and swallowed one with some cool water from beside her.
