Everything that needed to be said had been said. Xue Xingyao was the first to leave the teahouse.
Shen Mingji remained in the private room, staring dejectedly at the unfurled scrolls of calligraphy and painting.
Xue Xingyao hadn't taken a single one.
She had made herself too clear. Shen Mingji could no longer feign ignorance as he had before.
Xue Xingyao didn't want him.
She had stated her position unequivocally.
Shen Mingji couldn't change his past, nor could he turn back time. The things that mattered to Xue Xingyao were things he could never alter.
The man's shoulders slumped.
His eyes were filled with loss and an indefinable confusion.
It was as if his backbone had been ripped out, leaving him utterly adrift.
The world was vast, yet Shen Mingji was all alone, with no idea where to go from here.
Once again, Shen Mingji felt like rootless duckweed, floating aimlessly.
It was as if he had returned to the year his older sister passed away from illness.
