Despite holding onto Xu Chang'an's clothing, her body was stiff and she dared not move, as if afraid that the person in front of her would vanish like a bubble with just a bit of force.
"...?"
Xu Chang'an felt a bit strange and suddenly uneasy: "Miss, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing." Yun Qian closed her eyes, her cherry lips lightly touching his cheek.
"..." Xu Chang'an felt the lingering moistness on his face, his steps gradually slowed, and finally stopped.
Miss Yun... was very strange.
At this moment, although Xu Chang'an did not look back, he could sense that the lady was unusually soft and tender.
For Yun Qian, the memories scattered like water splashes, flowing through her heart like a wistful thought over a lake.
Her fingernail gently traced a straight line along the cloth of Xu Chang'an's chest.
Life and death are but two ends of a line; what matters is not life and death themselves, but the space in between, the traces left by living.
