When Chen Tang returned home, it was almost the fourth watch.
He pushed the door open and entered.
The oil lamp on the table flickered weakly as a gust of wind came in with the opening door, dimming the room.
Chen Tang's eye power was not affected by the darkness, and he saw two figures lying on the table, one was Qingmu, the other was Zhiwei.
The chubby old man had actually moved to the outer room, sleeping soundly on a bedding beside the stove.
The yellow dog also found a warm and comfortable spot next to the fireplace and dozed off with its eyes closed.
Seeing this scene, Chen Tang couldn't help but feel a trace of warmth in his heart.
It had been a long time since he felt like this.
Even in his past life, he worked away from home for years, living alone, returning to an empty house.
No one waited for him.
The only thing that awaited him was a high-cold cat that was indifferent to him.
The scene before him felt somewhat unfamiliar.
Is this home?
