Thousand Miles of Bright Moonlight

143

When Yaoying woke up, the cave was misty and steamy.

She was stiff and sore all over, she seemed to be able to hear the creaking of the joints when she moved, she couldn't help groaning|groaning a few times, and tried to move her arms little by little.

The arm just lifted, and the shoulder touched the warm and solid chest.

Yaoying was stunned, her eyes raised.

Tamaraga sat on her side, wearing her robes that she had dried by the brazier. She held a kerchief in her hand and was picking up her long wet hair that fell in the hot spring water, twisting little by little.  Dry.

Sky light flooded in from the top of the cave, and a room of golden brilliance floated.

He was bathed in the brilliant golden light, his slender fingers gently straightened out her hair, his eyes drooped, his expression was pious, as if he was standing on a high temple at the puja, preaching the scriptures in the eyes of thousands of believers, solemnly,  Quiet.

Don't be profane.

Yaoying couldn't help but held her breath and stood still, flashing in her mind the appearance of his naked body after taking off his robes last night, and suddenly felt an inexplicable guilty conscience, and her cheeks became hot.

Tamara Gha didn't realize that she was awake, but still focused on drying her wet hair with her handkerchief, and gently fiddled with her knuckles in her thick, jet-black hair. Her face was calm and her blue eyes were as clear as water.

The water was silent in the stone cave, except for the faint sound of her long hair and the rubbing of the beads on his wrist.

Yaoying shuddered slightly, staring at his contoured face for a while, a little dizzy, and whispered: "Mage..."

As soon as the words were spoken, she found that her throat was dry and painful, like a fire burning in it.

She leaned on the stone platform, coughing with her head down, and her chin suddenly became a little cold. Tamara Gha's slender fingers pushed her long hair away and lifted her chin.

He lowered his eyes to look at her, frowned lightly, spread the veil, curled his two fingers slightly, touched her cheeks, and quickly retracted it.

Yaoying shivered and said, "It must have been a cold last night."

Tamaraga looked down and settled on her. She was wearing his grey monk clothes, with loose hem and loose hem, her exquisite figure looming, a touch of soft and greasy snow, graceful and graceful.

He averted his gaze and was about to stand up, Yaoying hurriedly pressed his arm.

"Master, I'm fine."

She shook her heavy head to drive away the dizziness, and leaned forward to look at Tamaraga's legs: "Master, don't get up and walk around. Are your legs better?"

He looked pale and his legs seemed to have not recovered yet.

Tamaraga sat beside her, and when she was close, she was stuck on his chest. Through the monk's clothes, the touch of her skin was very clear, and her body was soft, like cheese.

He stepped back a bit.

Yaoying rolled up the corners of his robes and trousers, looked at his legs carefully, stretched out her hand and pressed it twice, feeling better than last night, took a long breath and raised her head.

"Does it hurt?"

She asked softly.

The sky was sunny, and the wind streamers moved lightly.