There wasn't much tenderness, nor was there much sympathy, only an entire outpouring.
At first, Yin Weiyin attempted to maintain a thread of clarity, but that weak resistance was soon shattered, like a small boat tossed amidst turbulent waves, only passively enduring the storm's assault, her fingertips powerlessly clutching the disordered silk quilt beneath her, which still bore an ambiguous scent that didn't belong to her.
Unaware of how much time had passed, the rain was sparse and the wind fierce.
The wedding chamber returned to silence, with only the sound of two heavy yet unsteady breaths interweaving.
Chen Yi rose, casually draping an outer robe over himself, and glanced at the bed, his gaze complex.
Yin Weiyin lay weakly on the wedding bed, like a flower ravaged by a violent storm, her bones feeling disjointed, especially deep within her, where a relentless ache of soreness and swelling prevailed, leaving her without the strength to lift a finger.
