Feng Zheyu reined in the emotions in his eyes, stepped back, turned around, and left.
He knew that Lu Xiaoyou didn't need his company at this moment; she could handle her emotions alone.
After Feng Zheyu left, Lu Xiaoyou wrapped herself more tightly with the blanket.
The moonlight was like threads, its gentle glow covering her, and in the deep night, a chill rose from the ground, drawing her into the depths of melancholy.
Lu Xiaoyou closed her eyes, and Long Xiliang's face emerged in her mind.
She rarely saw him smoking.
Tonight, he stood by the streetlight, smoking intensely.
His sharply defined face appeared even more handsome in the smoke, resembling a snow-covered distant mountain, majestic and unreachable.
With her eyes closed, as if she had fallen asleep, a faint smile appeared on Lu Xiaoyou's lips.
The next day, at 10 a.m.
Long Xiliang exhaled deeply; cigarette butts and ashes surrounded his feet.
