When he woke up the next day, Lu Xiaoxiao was sore all over. She twisted her neck and looked to her side, which was empty. The temperature of the tentacles has cooled, which means that the ink has been up for a long time.

Lu Xiaoxiao pressed his temple and couldn't help cursing in his heart. Every time is like this, she is tired and dying, but the ink is a fresh face, God is not fair.

In the middle of a fantasy, footsteps came from the door. Lu Xiaoxiao could tell who was the owner of the footsteps in the first second. She had a bad idea and stayed...