Qingci
This autumn was exceptionally cold. A sensation like crushed ice welled up from the pit of her stomach, gripping her abdomen inch by inch in a grinding ache—her stomach condition was flaring up again.
*Just hold on a little longer; the parking lot is right ahead.*
Her footing faltered anyway, her vision blurring in the throes of sharp pain. Just as she was about to collapse, a gentle warmth caught her hand, steadying her.
"Professor Qing, what's wrong? You look unwell."
The young woman's palm was burning, radiating a fervent warmth she herself had never known.
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