A few hours passed
Zhao Tian who was lying on his bed, glanced at the sleeping woman beside her.
He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Jing'er..."
His hand trembled as he gently traced her cheek and his thumb lingered on her lips.
He could still remember the warmth of her smile and the way she would tease him.
He could hear her laughter echoing in his mind.
But now… now she would never speak again, never smile at him, never scold him for being reckless.
Even in death, he could not bear to be apart from her.
He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize her scent, as if trying to hold on to the last remnants of her existence.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the distant sounds of the night.
But inside this room, inside his heart, there was only silence.
And in that silence, Zhao Tian held Yao Jing closer, as if by doing so, he thought he could stop time, if only for a little while longer.
...
