At midnight, Lingjin City was as silent as a slumbering man.
Chen Yang did not return directly to Book Mountain Court but went to the Lingjin River instead.
The scenery was the same. In the darkness, the sound of the river slapping against the shore and the whistling of the wind were the only sounds in the midnight void.
The scenery was unchanged, but the people were not.
Chen Yang had always believed himself to be a person of steadfast mind. He was hardly swayed by anything that might disturb his thoughts or emotions, capable of remaining composed even if Mount Tai were to collapse before him.
Clearly, I overestimated myself.
A wave of suffocating emotions—heartache, a tightness in his chest—washed over him.
This day in Lingjin City, by the Lingjin River.
