The light in his eyes dimmed a bit, and Ling Wuxie pulled at the corner of his mouth, eventually saying flatly, "Her heart, it's inscrutable."
He once thought that Ling Xuexue liked him a lot, depended on him.
He nurtured her carefully, waiting for his Xuexue to grow up, before he would pour out his feelings to her.
But suddenly, one day, Xuexue disappeared from his world without warning, and no matter how much he searched, he could not find her.
Seven years had passed, long as seven centuries, yet it felt like the blink of an eye.
Looking at Ling Wuxie's expression, Han Yingying stared at his eyes with a determined look: "Ling Wuxie, she must really like you. When she's by your side, she smiles so unguarded and full of happiness—it's the kind of expression that only appears in front of someone's most beloved."
Those eyes, shining with determined and stubborn light, were beautiful, compelling one to involuntarily believe her words were true.
