Her cries resembled those of an old crow, sharp and hoarse, sawing through the eardrums.
Biqiong walked to the washbasin by the window, looked at the not-too-distant azure waves, lowered her head, and buried her face in the water.
The world became quiet.
Closing her eyes, the world was not completely dark.
In the boundless dark world, there was always a human-shaped silhouette, just like that long sleep from before; even as her consciousness grew more drowsy, her mind always remembered that face—
A face that was genuinely sad for her, truly sorrowed for her.
She remembered that angle.
A tilted angle.
The first time she was held in his embrace, in the identity of a friend about to die.
She was still very weak then, barely able to open her eyes, but she made a great effort to open them, greedily watching his jawline, his profile, his eyes looking straight ahead.
At that time, the pain didn't seem so painful anymore.
He got closer and closer...
