Declare war
The air in the study of the Zong family's old house was so stagnant it seemed like you could wring water out of it.
Thunder rumbled outside the window, and dark clouds hung low, as if they might shatter the French windows at any moment. Zong Heng stood before the mahogany desk, his fingertips pressed against the document his father had just tossed aside; the edges of the paper were sharp, like an unsheathed knife.
"Freeze my account, dismiss me from my job, even cancel my apartment access card—" He sneered, his knuckles tapping heavily on the table. "Dad, are you trying to make me homeless?"
The grandfather stood with his back to him, looking out the window at the tree shadows torn apart by the gale, the whiskey glass in his hand reflecting a cold light. The ice had long since melted, and the amber liquid had diluted into a murky light brown, like some kind of decaying metaphor.
“I gave you a choice.” His voice was eerily calm.
Xu Ying's name was like a thorn, standing between father and son for five years.
Zong Heng picked up the equity transfer agreement, the paper making a slight crunch between his fingers. He glanced down at the terms—sign, relinquish Xu Ying, and everything would return to normal. His 20% stake in the group, his position as president of the Asia-Pacific region, and even that beloved limited-edition sports car would all return to his name intact.
He suddenly laughed, his fingertips tracing the edge of the paper until a "rip" sound, and the agreement tore in two in his hand.
"My answer is the same as it was five years ago."
The patriarch finally turned around.
His gaze was like ice, scrutinizing Zong Heng from head to toe. Five years of ups and downs in the business world had long since shed the sharp edges of his youth, but at this moment, his son revealed that stubbornness that he loathed.
Is it worth it for a woman?
Zong Heng tossed the torn-up agreement into the trash can with a swift and decisive motion. "She's not 'a woman'," he said, raising his eyes, his gaze sharp as a knife. "She's Xu Ying."
The air seemed to be split apart by that sentence.
Zong's father's knuckles tightened on the cup, veins bulging. "You think you can compete with the Zong family with your few technical patents?" he sneered. "The capital market is ruthless. Without the Zong family as your backer, you won't even last three months."
"Then let's give it a try." Zong Heng put one hand in his pocket, loosened his tie with the other, and suddenly revealed a provocative smile. "Let's see if your resources are stronger, or my life is tougher."
A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the sharp, identical features of the father and son.
There was a knock on the study door, and the butler respectfully handed over a document.
The elder brother glanced at it, his expression changing drastically. "You were prepared all along?"
That was proof of the transfer of all of Zong Heng's assets—three days ago, he had transferred all his personal shares and patent ownership to a newly registered company: Hengying Technology.
"One should always be wary of others." Zong Heng took the umbrella handed to him by the butler, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather, "especially one's own father."
The father slammed his glass to the floor, shards of glass scattering everywhere, staining the carpet a dark patch with whiskey. "You think you can threaten me like this? Don't forget, without the Zong family, you wouldn't have anything you have today. If you dare step out of this house—"
"Everything about the Zong family has nothing to do with me." Zong Heng had already turned around and closed the door.
The old house gate slammed shut behind us as the torrential rain poured down.
Zong Heng stood in the rain, his expensive bespoke suit instantly soaked. His phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a message from Xu Ying:
[The design proposal has been approved! The client said they want to reserve the main show spot for me!] This is followed by a spinning bunny emoji.
He stared at the screen and laughed out loud, raindrops dripping from his chin onto his phone. His thumb traced the emoji, and he suddenly remembered many similar nights—after evening self-study in their senior year of high school, she would bombard him with these childish emojis.
A photo suddenly appeared on the lock screen: Seventeen-year-old Xu Ying was holding a bottle of mineral water by the basketball court, the sunlight making her white school uniform almost transparent.
For five years, he has never changed this photo.
Zong Heng swiped his thumb across the power button and tilted his head back, letting the rain wash over his face. In the distance, neon lights blurred into patches of color in the rain, like spilled watercolors. He suddenly remembered what Xu Ying often said: "Look, even the dirtiest paint can become a beautiful gradient if it meets the right water."
He took off his suit jacket and threw it on the roadside, then rolled up his shirt sleeves and walked into the depths of the rain.
Step by step, I shattered the reflection of the Zong family mansion in the puddle.
The rain pierced the night like silver needles, blurring the entire city into a hazy halo of light in the downpour.
Zong Heng stood outside the carved iron gate of the Zong family's old mansion, his suit already soaked through, the fabric clinging to his body and outlining his taut shoulders. He raised his hand to wipe his face, water droplets rolling down his chin, indistinguishable between rain and sweat.
The phone vibrated twice in my pocket, then went completely black – the battery was dead.
He scoffed, stuffed his phone back into his pocket, and stepped into the rain.
His leather shoes waded into the puddles, splashing mud that stained his trouser legs, but he didn't care. For the first time in five years, he felt so relaxed. There were no family constraints, no weighing of interests, only the fire burning in his chest, growing ever brighter.
In the distance, neon lights blurred into patches of color in the rain, and he suddenly thought of Xu Ying's eyes—they were like that too, shining in the dark, stubborn yet gentle.
He stopped as he passed a convenience store.
Inside the glass window, warm light baked the steam from the oden, and white mist condensed into water droplets on the glass. He vaguely saw seventeen-year-old Xu Ying, tiptoeing in front of the shelf picking out candies, her ponytail swaying back and forth.
"Zong Heng?" The woman in my memory turned around, smiling as she handed me a lemon candy, "It'll make you choke on your sourness."
He instinctively reached out, but only touched the cold rain.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through his ribs—a knife wound he'd sustained during a robbery on the streets of New York during his sophomore year. Back then, clutching his wound and lying in the snow, he thought, "Thank goodness Xu Ying didn't see it."
And now, he suddenly wanted her to see him. To see his disheveled state, his wounds, all his struggles and resentment over the years.
He turned and continued walking, the rain washing over his brow bone like a belated baptism.
Xu Ying's apartment building was old, and the hallway lights had been broken for six months without being repaired. Zong Heng groped his way up to the fourth floor, where the warm yellow light leaking from the crack in the door of room 401 cut a golden line in the dark corridor.
He stood in front of the door, then suddenly hesitated.
The resignation letter in his suit pocket was soaked by the rain, the penmanship blurred into a bluish-gray haze. What should he say? "I've been kicked out of the house" or "The old man wants to kill us"?
His knuckles hovered half an inch in front of the doorbell, hesitating to drop them.
The door suddenly opened.
Xu Ying stood frozen at the doorway, holding a laundry basket, her hair still dripping wet, clearly having just finished showering. The neckline of her oversized loungewear was askew, revealing a lingering mosquito bite on her collarbone.
“You…” Her pupils contracted sharply, the laundry basket crashed to the ground, and towels and underwear were scattered all over the floor.
Zong Heng looked at her flustered appearance and suddenly laughed. Water droplets splashed from her hair onto her face, and she instinctively closed her eyes, allowing him to squeeze into the room.
"How did you get so wet?" She frantically reached for a towel, but he grabbed her wrist.
The cool touch made her shiver. Zong Heng looked down at her pale toes in her slippers, his Adam's apple bobbing: "With the heating on so high, aren't you afraid of catching a cold?"
Xu Ying glared at him: "It's better than you standing in the rain!" She grabbed a towel and slapped it on his head, but he took the opportunity to put his arm around her waist.
The soaked shirt clung to her pajamas, the chill seeping into her skin. She struggled for a moment, then heard a muffled groan from above her: "Don't move... my ribs hurt."
Xu Ying froze.
Zong Heng took the opportunity to rest his chin on the top of her head, his breath filled with the orange blossom scent of her shampoo. It smelled so good, a million times better than the expensive cologne in his New York apartment.
"Are you hurt?" Her voice trembled as she reached to unbutton his shirt.
He let her do as she pleased, watching her trembling eyelashes in the warm light. When her shirt was opened, she gasped—a gruesome scar ran down her right side, the stitches like centipede legs.
“During my sophomore year,” he said casually, “I was robbed at knifepoint.”
Her fingertips hovered above the scar, but she didn't dare touch it. Zong Heng grasped her hand and pressed it against his chest: "It doesn't hurt anymore."
Beneath his palm, his heart pounded heavily and rapidly.
When the sound of water came from the bathroom, Xu Ying was making ginger tea in the kitchen.
The porcelain spoon struck the edge of the pot with a crisp sound. She stared at the bubbling amber liquid and remembered that rainy night in her senior year of high school when Zong Heng climbed over the wall to bring her milk tea.
"Xu Ying".
A voice came from behind her. She turned around and almost knocked over the pot—Zong Heng was only wearing a bath towel, water droplets sliding down his abdominal muscles. His hair was still dripping wet, and he casually brushed it back, revealing his sharp brow bone.
"Stunned?" He leaned against the door frame and laughed.
She blushed and turned back: "The clothes are on the sofa!"
Footsteps approached from behind, and a warm, damp breath brushed against my ear: "You can't fit into them."
Indeed. The men's pajamas she secretly bought were chosen based on the boy's physique from her memory. But now, Zong Heng's shoulders are almost twice as wide as hers.
The ginger tea was boiling and overflowing from the pot. She hurriedly tried to turn off the heat, but he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Xu Ying,” he said in a hoarse voice, “I have nothing left now.”
Her hand holding the spoon paused.
In the firelight, his shadow cast on the wall resembled that of a wolf with its claws retracted.
Xu Ying suddenly turned around, grabbed his collar, and forced him to lower his head.
"So?" Her eyes shone with an astonishing light. "Young Master Zong is going to surrender?"
Zong Heng was stunned.
The gentle little girl in his memory was now like a sword drawn from its sheath. He suddenly burst into laughter, his chest heaving and startling the sparrows perched outside the window.
"Surrender?" He pressed his forehead against hers, water droplets rolling down onto the tip of her nose. "Those two words don't exist in my dictionary."
She stood on tiptoe and bit his chin: "Who are you trying to impress with that gloomy face?"
The pain made him hiss, but he held her even tighter. The warm kitchen light fused their shadows together, casting them on the wall like an inextinguishable flame.
The night was as dark as ink, and the city, after the downpour, was damp and chilly.
In Xu Ying's apartment, the heating hummed, dispelling the chill seeping in through the window cracks. Only a floor lamp was on in the living room, its dim yellow light enveloping the rug in front of the sofa. Zong Heng sat cross-legged on the floor, his laptop resting on his lap. The blue light from the screen reflected on his sharply defined profile, outlining his taut jawline.
Xu Ying came out of the kitchen carrying two cups of hot cocoa, walked barefoot across the wooden floor, and sat down beside him. When she handed him the mug, Zong Heng didn't take it; he just stared at the strings of data on the screen, his brows furrowed.
"Have something to drink." She touched the back of his hand.
He then came to his senses, took the cup, and his fingertips inadvertently brushed against hers, leaving a moment of warmth.
"Too sweet." He took a sip, frowned in his comment, but then tilted his head back and gulped down most of the glass.
Xu Ying scoffed, "If you don't like it, don't drink it." She reached out to snatch it, but he grabbed her wrist.
Zong Heng glanced at her, his eyes reflecting the cold light of the screen, yet burning with a hidden fire. He rubbed his thumb against her wrist bone and suddenly laughed: "I'll drink the poison you cooked."
Xu Ying's ears burned, and she pulled her hand back, deliberately putting on a stern face: "Stop joking. What's going on now?"
Zong Heng turned the laptop towards her. On the screen was an encrypted database of patent documents, with densely packed entries spanning three full pages.
“The old man dismissed me, froze all my bank accounts, and even canceled my access control at the company.” He spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather, “but he forgot one thing.”
He typed on the keyboard and brought up a patent certificate. The applicant's name was clearly written as "Zong Heng," but the company name was blank.
"All the core technology patents are in my personal name." He sneered. "Half of the underlying code for Zong's flagship products over the past five years is mine."
Xu Ying stared at the screen, her heart racing. She knew that expression all too well—he looked just like that before he got into fights in high school, a smile playing on his lips, but ice in his eyes.
"You had a backup plan all along?" she asked softly.
Zong Heng closed his laptop, the metal casing making a soft "click" sound. He turned to face her, suddenly reaching out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine.
“From the day you were falsely accused of plagiarism,” he said in a low voice, “I knew that one day I would have to break ties with him.”
Xu Ying's breath hitched. Five years ago, during that incident, she was almost expelled from school, while Zong Heng smashed a chair in the principal's office and was eventually forcibly taken abroad by his father. She had always thought that was the end of youthful impetuosity, but little did she know that he had already sown the seeds of his own downfall.
"What do we do next?" she asked, her throat a little dry.
Zong Heng didn't answer immediately. He reached for her mug and downed the remaining cocoa in one gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing. Xu Ying stared at the small cream stain on his lips, and almost unconsciously reached out to wipe it away—
But he grabbed her finger.
Zong Heng's eyes darkened suddenly, and he flipped her over, pinning her to the carpet. The laptop was knocked aside with a dull thud. Xu Ying gasped as her back sank into the soft carpet; his body heat seeped through her clothes, burning her intensely.
"Are you scared?" He pressed his nose against hers, their breaths mingling, "with a penniless guy who's just been abandoned by his family."
Xu Ying looked into his eyes. There was no fear, no confusion, only a familiar, heart-stirring certainty. Five years ago, on that rainy night, when he climbed over the wall to find her, he had the same look in his eyes.
She suddenly laughed, tilted her head back and bit his chin: "Afraid you'll starve to death, I'll transfer you 100,000 first?"
Zong Heng chuckled softly, his chest heaving. The next second, a heavy kiss landed on his lips.
The kiss was cloyingly sweet with lingering anger, almost a tearing bite. Xu Ying grabbed his collar, her nails digging into the fabric. Zong Heng's hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers entwining her hair, as if trying to reclaim the warmth he had lost for five years all at once.
When they finally parted, a trail of ambiguous saliva appeared at the corner of their lips.
Outside the window, the first rays of moonlight after the rain pierced through the clouds and fell on the overlapping shadows. Zong Heng propped himself up on his elbows and suddenly became serious: "I will publicly resign at the board meeting in three days."
Xu Ying quieted down.
He traced the lingering hickey on her collarbone with his fingertips, his eyes sharp as a drawn sword: "And then—"
"Declare war."
——
Three days later, in the top-floor conference room of the Zong Group, the morning light pierced through the smog.
The long table in the boardroom was polished to a shine, reflecting the hazy sunlight streaming through the windows. At nine o'clock sharp, the meeting room door was pushed open, but it wasn't the secretary who walked in; it was Zong Heng.
Instead of his usual tailored suit, he wore a black turtleneck sweater that accentuated his sharp shoulder line, making him look like a drawn sword.
The air froze instantly.
The board members exchanged glances; some coughed, some looked down at documents, but no one dared to speak first. The head of the board, Mr. Zong, tapped his knuckles on the table: "You're late."
Zong Heng chuckled, twirling a silver USB drive between his fingers, the metallic gleam shimmering. He walked to the projector, the USB drive clicked into the port, and the large screen lit up.
"Everyone," he said in a low voice, yet it made everyone look up, "the meeting is adjourning early today."
The folder unfolds, revealing twenty-seven patent certificates neatly arranged, each stamped with a bright red official seal in the lower right corner.
"All of Zong's core technologies from the past five years are here." He clicked on the first document, "Artificial Intelligence Voice Recognition System, Patent No. CN2023XXXX17." He scrolled the mouse over it, "Applicant: Zong Heng."
The meeting room erupted in chaos.
"This is impossible!" The CFO jumped to his feet. "These are company assets!"
Zong Heng ignored them and continued scrolling down. Each time he opened a document, someone gasped. The twenty-third item was new energy battery technology; the twenty-sixth was blockchain encryption algorithms… all of which were among the Zong family's most profitable projects in recent years.
“According to Article 6 of the Patent Law.” He closed the file, tossed the USB drive in his palm, and caught it again. “The ownership of a service invention, unless otherwise specified in the contract—”
"Owned by the inventor."
Dead silence.
The patriarch's face turned ashen, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged: "This is theft."
“Theft?” Zong Heng pulled a stack of papers from his pocket and slammed them on the table. “I signed an employment contract with the company five years ago. Read Article 7 carefully.”
The paper slid down in front of the board members. Someone picked it up and read aloud: 'Party A has priority right to use the results of Party B's independent research and development, but ownership belongs to Party B personally'...
"Impossible!" Father Zong grabbed the contract and glanced at the signature at the end—it was indeed his own handwriting.
Zong Heng laughed: "Dad, when you made me sign it back then, didn't you look at it carefully?"
He knew his father's arrogance all too well. Five years ago, when he had just returned to China, his father threw a pile of documents at him and asked him to sign them. He read them word by word, and under the shocked gaze of the Ministry of Justice, he crossed out three unfair clauses.
That's when he planted the seeds for today.
The projector hummed as Zong Heng turned off the screen and put the USB drive back into his pocket: "From today onwards, these technologies belong to 'Hengying Technology'." He paused, "My new company."
"Are you crazy!" an elder slammed his fist on the table. "Without the Zong family's resources, how are you going to operate?"
Zong Heng didn't answer, but simply took out a gold-embossed business card from his suit pocket and gently placed it on the table.
Zong Heng, CEO of Hengying Technology
The line below in smaller print: Xu Ying, co-founder & chief designer
“Resources?” He pointed to the cherry blossom logo on the business card. “I have better ones.”
The board members stirred. Some were secretly checking their phones, clearly investigating this suddenly appearing company. Zong Heng didn't need to look to know that the entire internet was abuzz with the news—
The heir of the Zong family sets up a new business with a mysterious girlfriend.
It's the number one trending topic.
He turned and walked towards the door, his blurry silhouette reflected in the glass. Behind him came his father's suppressed roar: "If you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!"
Zong Heng didn't stop walking. As his hand touched the doorknob, he suddenly turned around.
"I almost forgot." He smiled like a mischievous boy who had just pulled off a prank. "The new product launch is on the eighth of next month."
His last words drifted in before the glass door closed:
"Welcome everyone to participate."
——
Night fell like a piece of velvet soaked in ink, pressing low over the edge of the city. Neon lights blurred in the damp air, their red, green, blue, and purple lights flashing and reflecting off the crooked sign in the alley—"Old Chen's Fried Rice Noodles."
Plastic tables and chairs were placed crookedly by the roadside. On the greasy folding table, disposable chopsticks were stuck in a soy sauce bottle, and the lid of the chili pepper can was nowhere to be found.
Xu Ying rested her chin on her hand, watching Zong Heng wolf down his fried noodles, his bangs falling down to cover his sharp brow bone.
"Eat slowly," she couldn't help but laugh, "no one's going to take it from you."
Zong Heng looked up, a little chili oil on the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes shining brightly under the light: "I'm starving, the old man didn't even let me have lunch."
He took another big bite as he spoke, the bean sprouts in the fried noodles making a crisp sound. Xu Ying reached out and wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, but he suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“Designer Xu,” he said in a low, husky voice, with a hint of amusement, “isn’t it a bit inappropriate to harass a down-on-his-luck young man on the street?”
Her ears burned, and she pulled her hand back: "Who's flirting with you? I'm just worried you're dirty and will affect the city's appearance."
Zong Heng chuckled softly, his chest heaving, and suddenly leaned closer: "Then let's tease each other again when we get home?"
"..."
The proprietress brought over two bowls of seaweed and egg drop soup, speaking in a thick dialect: "Young man, your girlfriend is even prettier, you should treat her well!"
Zong Heng took the soup bowl and gently brushed his fingertips against the back of Xu Ying's hand: "Did you hear that? The landlady told me to be nice to you."
Xu Ying lowered her head to drink the soup, and her eyelashes trembled slightly in the rising steam.
The night breeze carries the aroma of food stalls, a blend of cumin, chili, and the scent of oil from woks, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.
Zong Heng suddenly put down his chopsticks, took something out of his pocket, and clenched it in his palm.
"Xu Ying." He called her name, his voice deeper than usual.
"Hmm?" She looked up, and the next second, she felt a sudden chill on her ring finger.
A silver pull tab from a soda can, its edge worn smooth, gleamed under the neon lights, was on her finger.
Xu Ying was stunned.
Zong Heng stared into her eyes and said, word by word, "Use this for now, and get a diamond ring later."
Her heart skipped a beat, her fingertips involuntarily curled up, the pull ring gently digging into her skin, the cool touch feeling incredibly real.
"You..." She opened her mouth, her voice a little hoarse, "When did you prepare this?"
"While I was drinking my Coke just now," he said, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the streetlights with an astonishing brilliance, "what do you think? Pretty creative, right?"
Xu Ying looked down at the simple "ring" and suddenly laughed: "Zong Heng, is this your proposal?"
"Doesn't that count?" He raised an eyebrow, suddenly stood up, knelt on one knee on the greasy floor tiles, and took her hand. "Then let's make it more formal—Xu Ying, will you marry me?"
The surroundings fell silent for a second. The workers at the next table started whistling, and the proprietress smiled so hard her eyes narrowed into slits.
Xu Ying's cheeks were burning, her fingers were gripped tightly by him, and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
"Get up!" she pulled him. "The floor is covered in oil!"
Zong Heng remained unmoved, his dark eyes burning: "You agree first."
She bit her lip, then suddenly leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Okay."
The next second, everything spun around—Zong Heng picked her up from the chair, spun her around, and drew cheers from those around them.
"Put me down!" Xu Ying punched his shoulder, but couldn't help laughing.
Zong Heng put her back in the chair, his fingertips stroking the ring on her ring finger, and whispered, "I'll take you to pick out a diamond ring at the end of the month."
"No." Xu Ying shook her head and wagged her finger. "This one is fine."
As night deepened, the diners in the alley dispersed in twos and threes.
Zong Heng's phone suddenly lit up; a bank text message popped up—
[XX Bank] Your account ending in XXXX has received a transfer of 100,000.00 yuan, leaving a balance of 100,002.50 yuan.
He stared at the screen, raising an eyebrow: "Xu Ying?"
She lowered her head and drank her soup, pretending not to hear.
Zong Heng pushed the phone in front of her: "Explain yourself?"
"Investment." She said without changing her expression. "Didn't you want to start a company?"
He squinted and suddenly leaned closer: "What's the annual interest rate?"
Xu Ying looked up and mimicked his usual tone: "One hundred percent."
Zong Heng chuckled and reached out to pinch her cheek: "Is President Xu going to keep me as a sugar daddy?"
“Yes,” she slapped his hand away, “so behave well, or your salary will be docked.”
He suddenly grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her.
The spiciness of the stir-fried noodles still lingered on her lips and teeth. Xu Ying instinctively grabbed his collar, the noisy sounds of the night market filling her ears, the sizzling of oil in the wok, and the crash of a beer bottle falling to the ground at the next table—
But his kiss was hot and clear, as if he wanted to make up for all the gaps of the past five years.
"Breathe." He stepped back slightly, his thumb brushing against her moist lips, his voice low and husky, "Is President Xu satisfied?"
Xu Ying blushed and pushed him away: "Failed."
Zong Heng laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her again: "Then let's try one more time."
At one o'clock in the morning, they walked slowly along the narrow alleys of the urban village.
The streetlights were old and dilapidated, flickering on and off. Zong Heng held Xu Ying's hand, the pull rings of the lights glowing faintly between her fingers.
"You really don't want a diamond ring?" he asked.
"No," Xu Ying shook her head. "This is more meaningful."
Zong Heng squeezed her fingers and suddenly said, "Actually, I have some money deposited in a Swiss bank."
She looked at him in surprise.
"It was transferred out secretly back then, the old man doesn't know." He smiled. "Enough for us to start over."
Xu Ying glared at him: "Then why did you take my 100,000?"
“It’s different.” He lowered his head and kissed the top of her head. “That’s my savings for marriage, I can’t touch it.”
"Who's your wife!"
"Who just accepted the marriage proposal?"
The night breeze blew through the alley, carrying the lingering aroma of food stalls. Xu Ying suddenly stopped and looked up at him: "Zong Heng."
"Um?"
"We'll win, right?"
He looked into her eyes and suddenly remembered that rainy night five years ago when she looked at him in the same way and said, "I'll wait for you."
Zong Heng tightened his fingers, pressing her palm firmly against his chest.
“Of course,” he said. “The word ‘lose’ doesn’t exist in my dictionary.”
In the distance, the last neon light went out.
But they still have a long way to go.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
