In the summer night of August, Rong University's campus was devoid of cicada song.
Pei Yan's silhouette was starkly cold as he stood ramrod straight under the streetlamp, allowing the girl to clutch him tightly.
His hands were tucked in his pockets, his lips tightly pursed.
Only the pair of dark, somber eyes beneath the brim of his hat simmered with suppressed desire, like magma buried in a volcano, on the verge of eruption.
The girl had tears glistening at the corners of her eyes; a muffled thunderclap tore through the canopy of heaven, and she opened her eyes.
A deluge was imminent. Jiang Shuyao's tearful eyes were hazy as she gently tugged at the hem of his clothes, "Pei Yan."
Her voice was thin and soft, with a plaintive cry that, in the stillness of the wind, was heartbreakingly audible.
He said nothing, his large hand resting on her shoulder, gaze directed toward the dark figure approaching in the distance, and slowly pushed the person in front of him away.
