Other than when his grandmother died, Fu Yunshen had never felt so helpless and panicked, except for now.
He looked at Wen Yuci, who was within arm's reach, yet he no longer had the courage to hold her in his embrace.
Wen Yuci didn't hysterically question Fu Yunshen, and the more composed she was, the more panicky he became.
He would rather have her vent all her emotions out.
However, she didn't.
"Fu Yunshen, let me go!" she said just that.
The large palm that Fu Yunshen had stuffed into his trouser pocket balled into a fist; tendons stood out, ridged on the back of his hand.
If he let her go, who would let him go then?
The handsome and distinguished lines of Fu Yunshen's profile grew taut as he said in a low, hoarse voice, "I've said it, alive you're mine, dead you'll still be my ghost."
Wen Yuci lifted her reddened eyes and gave him a quiet glance, said nothing more, and limped away.
When Wen Yuci returned home, that very night, Mother Wen swallowed sleeping pills.
