Behind the guesthouse's rear wall, under the dim light.
Xia Chuyi stood with her hands stuffed in her pockets, standing straight, gazing at a certain window on the first floor of the guesthouse.
The curtain of that window was pulled tight, with just a dribble of sickly yellow light seeping through.
Suddenly, there was a burst of noise from inside the room as the curtain was yanked open, and a figure hurriedly scrambled out of the windowsill.
No sooner had the person tumbled out than they came face to face with Xia Chuyi.
The person was stunned.
Xia Chuyi regarded the person before her with cool detachment.
Perhaps in too great a haste to escape, He Qing hadn't even put on his coat, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes were in disarray.
"He Qing, what are you doing out so late? What made you interested in sneaking out of my sister's room?" Xia Chuyi's tone was especially neutral, indifferent as if discussing the cold weather or a rising wind.