He didn't board the plane that crashed; he's still alive, didn't his mother pass this news back? Why doesn't she know? Fine, even if no one informed her, what about Secretary Lin? Why did Secretary Lin also think he had passed away?
The voicemails continued, her voice persistently sounding in his ears—happy, dejected, sad, heartbroken—all emotions poured out to him, as if he were still by her side, as if he were the greatest motivation she was seeking.
One hundred and sixty-eight messages, she persisted for nearly half a year, without a single day of interruption.
Though clearly hopeless, she still held onto hope; though clearly at a dead end, she was unwilling to give up.
For the first time, he realized that Dong Xin Yan was so foolish, and it was for him that she was foolish.
How could such a small and fragile body bear such great sorrow and still persistently search?
