Loosening of the heart wall
The sky outside the window was like ink-soaked rice paper, with rolling dark clouds swallowing the last vestiges of twilight. Xu Ying rubbed her aching temples, the lines on the design draft blurring before her eyes.
The office lights were blindingly white, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the first drop of rain had already hit the glass.
"Director Xu, the revision suggestions for this sample garment..." Assistant Xiaolin pushed open the door, but stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence, "You look terrible, would you like to rest?"
Xu Ying forced a smile, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the rim of her coffee cup. The iced Americano was long gone, and condensation dripped down her fingers. "It's okay, just put the documents here," she said, her voice even hoarser than she'd expected.
When the footsteps of the last colleague on the floor disappeared at the elevator entrance, Xu Ying finally put down her pen. Her watch hands were already pointing to eleven o'clock, and the torrential rain outside seemed poised to engulf the entire city. She checked her phone; the weather forecast indicated the rain would continue until the early hours of the morning.
"What bad luck..." she muttered to herself, rummaging through her handbag but finding only a broken folding umbrella. Old Zhang, the building's security guard, handed her a disposable raincoat: "Director Xu, please make do with this."
The raincoat was ripped open by the gale the moment she stepped out of the building. Icy rainwater seeped down her neck and into her collar, making Xu Ying shiver. Her high heels sank into puddles, splashing mud and dirt onto her trouser legs. A taxi sped past her, the spray from its wheels extinguishing all her hopes.
When Xu Ying finally stumbled back to the apartment building, her hair was soaked, water dripping from the ends. The air conditioning in the elevator made her unconsciously hug her arms tighter, and the mirror reflected her pale face and red nose.
Achoo—
The moment the door closed behind her, Xu Ying's legs finally gave way. She slid slowly to the floor, her fingers trembling as she tried to unbutton her shirt. The soaked fabric clung to her skin like a cold cocoon. Only when the hot water from the bathroom hit her did she realize that her fingers were already purple from the cold.
After changing into dry pajamas, Xu Ying's temples began to throb. She rummaged through the first-aid kit, and the empty box of fever reducers made her pause for a few seconds. "Just last week..." Her memory suddenly went blank, and she remembered giving the last two pills to the little girl next door who had a fever when she had a cold last time.
The kettle in the kitchen hissed shrilly. As Xu Ying nestled into the sofa with a cup of hot water, she noticed her hands were trembling violently. The television was broadcasting the nightly news, the anchorwoman's voice appearing and disappearing: "...Typhoon Haikui is about to make landfall. Citizens are advised to take precautions..."
The phone on the coffee table suddenly lit up. It was a message from Zong Heng: [Tomorrow at 10 AM, Conference Room B.] Even the punctuation was cold and hard. Xu Ying stared at the screen for a long time until the light went out. She remembered when she bumped into him in the elevator this afternoon; the man hadn't even spared her a glance, as if those unforgettable memories between them had never existed.
"Ugh..." A sharp headache struck, and Xu Ying curled up. Her forehead was burning hot, but her hands and feet were as cold as iron. She groped for a blanket to wrap herself in, but in the process, she knocked over a folder on the table. The cooperation proposal from the Zong Group was scattered all over the floor, and the signature space on the top page was still blank.
The sound of rain outside the window grew louder, the raindrops hitting the glass like some kind of urgent question. Xu Ying's vision began to blur, and in her daze she seemed to see seventeen-year-old Zong Heng standing in the rain, his school uniform jacket soaking wet and clinging to his body, but he was tightly protecting a box of strawberry cake that hadn't gotten wet.
"Yingying, take your medicine." The boy in my memory commanded fiercely.
In reality, Xu Ying unconsciously murmured, "Zong Heng..." Her voice was so soft that it was swallowed by the sound of rain as soon as it left her lips. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and in the last moment before she succumbed to darkness, she seemed to hear the doorbell ring.
It must be a hallucination, she thought. Just like in countless dreams over the past five years, she always heard him calling her name.
The torrential rain outside the window had been going on for a full three hours.
Xu Ying curled up on the sofa, her forehead burning hot, her throat dry as if it were stuffed with cotton. She tried to reach for the water glass on the coffee table, but her arm was limp, and as soon as her fingertips touched the glass, it tipped over with a "thud," leaving a dark stain on the wooden floor.
"Damn it..." She closed her eyes, her temples throbbing, even her breath felt hot.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
A short "ding-dong" sounded particularly faint amidst the rain.
Xu Ying frowned, thinking she was hallucinating. She hadn't ordered takeout or made plans with friends; who would come looking for her at this hour?
The doorbell rang again, this time more urgently.
She struggled to her feet, supporting herself on the back of the sofa, and walked unsteadily toward the door. Through the peephole, she could only see a blurry darkness—the motion-sensor lights in the hallway had been broken for a long time, and the property management had never come to fix them.
"Who?" she asked in a hoarse voice, so low it was almost inaudible.
No one answered.
Xu Ying breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that she must have pressed the wrong doorbell.
She turned to go back, but before she could take a step, a loud bang suddenly came from outside the door—
Someone kicked down her door.
The door lock made a strained, metallic creaking sound, and the next second, the door was flung open and slammed against the wall.
A cold wind, carrying raindrops, rushed in. Xu Ying instinctively stepped back, but nearly fell due to dizziness. An arm reached out and firmly gripped her waist, pulling her back to safety.
"Xu Ying".
A deep male voice, tinged with suppressed anger.
She froze, then slowly raised her head.
Zong Heng stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone. Water droplets slid down his chin and splashed onto her floor. His suit jacket was so wet it could be wrung out, and his shirt clung to his body, outlining his taut muscles.
His eyes were frighteningly dark, staring intently at her as if trying to pin her to the spot.
"You..." Xu Ying opened her mouth, but her throat was too dry to make a sound.
Zong Heng's gaze shifted from her flushed cheeks to her slightly trembling body, and his expression suddenly turned even more unpleasant. He raised his hand, placing his palm directly on her forehead, the scalding heat causing his pupils to shrink.
“You have a fever.” His voice was cold and hard, like a statement or an interrogation.
Xu Ying tried to dodge his hand, but he grabbed her wrist. His fingers were icy cold, yet they held an irresistible force.
"I'm fine..." She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it even tighter.
"Nothing wrong?" Zong Heng sneered, his gaze sweeping over the empty fever reducer box and the overturned water glass, his eyes growing even darker. "You call this nothing wrong?"
Xu Ying was forced to retreat, her back pressed against the wall.
Zong Heng took a step closer, his tall figure almost completely enveloping her. He still carried the chill of the rain, yet his breath was hot against her face.
"Why didn't you answer the phone?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"My phone is on silent..." Xu Ying turned her face away, not wanting him to see her disheveled appearance.
"Silent?" Zong Heng scoffed, pulling her spare key from his pocket—the one she used to keep in her company drawer, which he had somehow kept all this time.
"You—" Xu Ying's eyes widened, "How did you get a key to my house?"
Zong Heng didn't answer, but stared at her flushed ear tips. Suddenly, he reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
"I took care of you when you had a fever last time," he said in a low, husky voice. "Forgot?"
Xu Ying's breath hitched.
Five years ago, in the winter of her senior year of high school, she developed a high fever after being caught in the rain. Zong Heng skipped evening self-study, climbed over the wall into her house, and, using the same method, pinched her chin and forced her to take medicine, saying fiercely, "Try getting sick again?"
Memories flooded back, her eyes welled up with tears, and she pushed him away abruptly: "It's none of your business!"
Zong Heng was pushed back half a step by her, his eyes suddenly turning gloomy. He ripped off his tie and threw it on the ground, strode towards the bathroom, grabbed a towel, soaked it in cold water, and came back to press it directly onto her forehead.
"It's not up to you."
He pressed Xu Ying down onto the sofa, and the cold towel pressed against her forehead made her shiver involuntarily.
Zong Heng turned around and rummaged through her medicine box, roughly pulling open the drawer and dumping everything out. Vitamins, stomach medicine, and band-aids were scattered all over the floor, but the box of fever reducers was empty.
He stared at the empty medicine box for two seconds, then suddenly crushed it and threw it into the trash can.
"Is this how you usually take care of yourself?" He turned to look at her, his eyes burning with anger.
Xu Ying huddled in the corner of the sofa, remaining silent.
Zong Heng grabbed his coat from the sofa and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" she asked instinctively.
"Buy medicine." He said without turning his head.
Xu Ying watched his retreating figure, then suddenly remembered that it was still pouring rain outside. She opened her mouth, her voice very soft: "The rain is too heavy..."
Zong Heng stopped in his tracks.
He turned around, his eyes dark and brooding, as if he wanted to devour her whole.
"Shut up," he said in a hoarse voice. "Lie down."
Then he slammed the door and left.
As Xu Ying listened to his footsteps disappear into the stairwell, she finally slid down to sit on the ground.
She hugged her knees tightly, her forehead pressed against the edge of the sofa, and suddenly felt a lump in her throat.
Five years have passed.
She thought she had long forgotten his warmth, forgotten his tense jawline when he was angry, forgotten the calluses on his fingertips when he pinched her chin.
But it turns out, he hadn't forgotten anything.
Outside the window, the downpour continued.
Rainwater streamed down Zong Heng's brow bone. He raised his hand to wipe his face, squinting as he searched for the pharmacy's lights in the blurry rain.
The entire commercial street was almost completely dark, except for the neon light of a convenience store in the distance, which was still flashing. He strode over, pushing open the door and bringing in a gust of cold air and moisture. The cashier, who was dozing off, was startled by the tall figure suddenly barging in.
"Fever reducer." He said in a low voice, tapping his fingers on the glass counter, his knuckles still bearing unhealed abrasions.
"The cold medicine is on that shelf over there—"
"I want the fastest results."
The cashier pulled out the last box of imported fever reducers. Zong Heng glanced at the ingredient list, then pulled out several damp banknotes and slammed them on the table: "And a bottle of mineral water."
He stood under the eaves unpacking the medicine box, rainwater dripping from his suit sleeve onto the instruction manual, blurring the ink.
Suddenly remembering that Xu Ying was afraid of bitterness, he turned back and asked for a bag of fruit candies. The cashier's gossipy look made him glare back irritably.
He gripped the medicine box tightly, his knuckles turning white. Five years had passed, and he still couldn't shake this damned conditioned reflex—he couldn't sit still when he heard her cough, and seeing rain reminded him of her always forgetting to bring an umbrella.
When she opened the door, only a dim floor lamp was lit in the living room. Xu Ying was curled up on the sofa, her cheeks flushed an unnatural red.
"Get up and take your medicine."
She groggily opened her eyes and saw Zong Heng staring down at her, water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes. A pill was placed in her mouth, and the bitter taste immediately spread through her mouth.
"...It's bitter." She frowned and turned her head away.
"Xu Ying," he said, his voice laced with warning, "don't make me use force."
He held her chin with one hand and brought the water glass to her lips with the other.
As she struggled, water splashed onto both of them. His shirt collar was soaked, and the scar on his collarbone was faintly visible—a mark he had sustained in a fight for her in high school.
"You...bastard..." She coughed, her eyes welling up with tears.
Zong Heng suddenly froze.
Then he roughly tore open the candy bag and shoved the orange-flavored hard candy into her mouth: "Such a spoiled brat." His tone was three degrees softer than before.
The torrential rain outside the window continued to rage, the raindrops pounding against the glass with a fine, rapid sound. Only a dim, yellowish bedside lamp illuminated the room, its soft light enveloping Xu Ying, who was curled up on the bed. An ice-cold towel covered her forehead, her cheeks were flushed an unnatural red from a high fever, and her breathing was rapid and weak.
Zong Heng sat on the chair by the bed, his brows furrowed, his gaze fixed on her. His shirt was half-dry, and his hair was still dripping wet, but he didn't bother to wipe it off. He simply reached out every few minutes to check her temperature.
"Why is it still so hot..." he cursed under his breath, picked up his phone to call the doctor again, but found that it was already two o'clock in the morning, and the torrential rain outside had almost paralyzed the roads.
He scratched his head in frustration, about to get up to get a new ice towel, when he suddenly heard Xu Ying murmur in her drowsy state—
"...Zong Heng."
His movements suddenly stopped.
The voice was so soft, almost like a hallucination, but he was certain he hadn't misheard. For the first time in five years, she had called his name unconsciously.
He slowly leaned down, getting close to her lips, wanting to hear what else she would say.
Xu Ying's eyelashes trembled slightly, her brows furrowed, as if she were lost in a dream. Her lips were chapped, and she moved slightly again: "Don't go."
Zong Heng's breath hitched.
His fingers unconsciously tightened, his knuckles turning white.
Five years ago, on the day he left, she grabbed his sleeve in the same way, her voice trembling as she said, "Zong Heng, don't go."
The room was so quiet that only the sound of rain and her breathing could be heard.
Zong Heng slowly reached out his hand, his fingertips hovering above her cheek, as if he wanted to touch her but dared not actually touch her.
Finally, he gently took her hand that was sticking out from under the covers.
Her hands were small and soft, slightly warm from the fever. He placed his palm over them, carefully enveloping them as if cradling some fragile treasure.
“Not this time,” he said in a low voice, so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
A flash of lightning streaked across the window, illuminating his profile for a fleeting moment. His usually cold and stern eyes were now brimming with complex emotions—regret, heartache, and long-suppressed longing.
Xu Ying seemed to sense something in her dream; her fingers curled slightly, and she unconsciously squeezed his hand back.
Zong Heng's Adam's apple bobbed, and he suddenly felt a tightness and pain in his chest.
He gently released her hand, stood up, walked to the window, and took a deep breath. The cold wind of the rainy night rushed in, but it couldn't dispel the surging heat in his chest.
Five years have passed.
He thought time would heal all wounds, but the moment he saw her again, he understood—
Some obsessions are already etched into one's very bones.
Zong Heng took out a cigarette case from his pocket, and was about to light it when he remembered that this was her bedroom. In the end, he just irritably held the cigarette between his teeth.
His gaze fell on the desk—where her design sketches, several fashion magazines, and a glass of water that had gone cold were laid out.
Next to the cup was his wallet, which he had casually placed down earlier.
He walked over, picked up the wallet, rubbed his fingertips along the edge for a while, and finally opened the compartment.
A faded photograph lay there quietly.
—A group photo of them on the playground on the day they graduated from high school.
In the photo, Xu Ying is wearing a school uniform, her hair in a ponytail, and she's smiling at the camera with her eyes crinkling. He stands half a step behind her, his face showing his usual impatience, but his gaze is fixed on her profile.
On the back of the photo, there is a line of faded small print:
"We'll always be together. —Xu Ying"
Zong Heng gently traced the line of writing with his thumb, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
He kept this photo for five years.
From the US to China, from student to CEO, I've changed wallets countless times, but this photo has always remained in the same place.
Sometimes even he himself finds it laughable—
Zong, a ruthless and decisive businessman, is surprisingly like a young boy, hiding a photo of his first love in his wallet.
But he just couldn't bear to throw it away.
Just like he couldn't bear to delete those never-sent text messages from his phone, couldn't bear to throw away the fountain pen she gave him back then, couldn't bear to... forget her.
Zong Heng put the photo back and turned to look at the person sleeping soundly on the bed.
Xu Ying's fever seemed to have subsided somewhat; her brows were no longer furrowed, and her breathing had become much more steady.
He walked back to the bedside, and as if possessed, reached out and gently brushed away the sweaty stray hairs from her forehead.
"Xu Ying." He called her name softly, his voice like a sigh, "Do you know..."
The second half of the sentence disappeared into thin air.
Do you know how much I've missed you these past five years?
The light from the desk lamp cast his long shadow, lonely and solitary, onto the wall.
Outside the window, the rain gradually subsided, and a faint glimmer of light appeared on the horizon.
The long night is coming to an end.
The morning light, like melting honey, slowly seeped into the room.
When Xu Ying opened her eyes, her forehead was no longer burning hot, but her throat was still a little dry. She turned her head slightly, her vision still a little blurry, and she could only see a tall, dark figure on the sofa.
—It is Zong Heng.
He was curled up on the sofa, which was just right for her but clearly too small for him, his long legs having nowhere to go, one foot dangling off the armrest and the other braced against the coffee table. His suit jacket hung wrinkled on his body, his tie was loose, and his shirt collar was pulled askew, revealing a section of his collarbone.
Xu Ying was taken aback.
She had never seen Zong Heng like this before.
In my memory, he was always sharp and flamboyant—his high school uniform collar was wide open, revealing his well-defined neck; as an adult, he wore a suit and tie, every inch of which exuded a cold and unapproachable aura.
But now, he's like an exhausted young man, sleeping soundly on her sofa without any warning.
She gently propped herself up, and the thin blanket slipped off her shoulders.
—Did he cover her with it?
Her gaze shifted downwards, and she saw scattered medicine boxes, a half-full glass of water, and... on the coffee table.
Her fingertips paused slightly.
That fountain pen.
It was a parting gift she gave him when he graduated from high school.
There is a noticeable dent on the pen cap, as if it had been dropped and carefully preserved by someone until now.
Xu Ying quietly got off the sofa.
Her bare feet touched the floor, and a chill crept up from the soles of her feet. She ignored it and silently moved closer to him.
Zong Heng was sleeping soundly.
His eyelashes cast a small shadow beneath his eyes, and his breathing was even and long. A faint stubble on his chin added a touch of decadent sexiness to his appearance.
She reached out as if possessed, but stopped abruptly just before touching his cheek.
What is she doing?
Her fingertips curled up, she withdrew her hand, and turned to look at his hand hanging by the sofa.
That hand was long and strong, with distinct knuckles, but it was loosely clutching a towel—the one he had used to apply to her forehead last night.
The towel was dry, crumpled and tucked in his palm, as if he had held it all night.
Her heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Her gaze shifted again, and she noticed that he seemed to be holding something in his other hand.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a photograph.
—A group photo of them and their friends when they graduated from high school.
In the photo, she stands on the far side with a shy smile; while he stands diagonally behind her, his gaze fixed on her, a nonchalant smile on his lips.
The edges of the photo have turned yellow, but someone has carefully covered them with transparent tape, as if to prevent it from being damaged.
Xu Ying's fingertips trembled slightly.
She suddenly remembered that in her half-awake state last night, she seemed to hear him say—
"Not this time."
Have you seen enough?
A low, husky voice suddenly rang out.
Xu Ying was startled and looked up abruptly, meeting Zong Heng's dark eyes.
He had woken up at some point and was staring intently at her.
In the morning light, his pupils were like amber illuminated by the light, clearly reflecting her image.
She hurriedly straightened up, but because she moved too quickly, her vision went black and she stumbled.
Zong Heng grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
"Why are you running around when you're not fully recovered?" He frowned, his voice still hoarse from just waking up.
Xu Ying struggled, but couldn't break free.
"I...I'm alright now." She looked away. "Thank you for last night..."
Before she could finish speaking, Zong Heng released her, got up to pour a glass of warm water, and handed it to her.
"drink."
His commanding tone was exactly the same as it was in high school.
Xu Ying took the water glass, and her fingertips accidentally touched his, causing her to flinch as if she had been electrocuted.
Zong Heng stared at her reaction and suddenly chuckled.
“Designer Xu,” he said slowly, adjusting his cuffs, “now you know how to hide?”
She pursed her lips and didn't say anything.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Zong Heng's gaze fell on the fountain pen on the coffee table, his eyes darkening slightly.
Xu Ying followed his gaze and finally couldn't help but speak:
"Why... keep it?"
Zong Heng did not answer immediately.
He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains.
Sunlight poured in, making Xu Ying squint.
"What do you think?" he asked, his back to her, his voice indifferent.
Xu Ying gripped the water glass tightly.
Five years have passed.
She thought she had let go long ago, but at this moment, those emotions that she had deliberately buried surged up again.
"Zong Heng," she whispered his name.
The man's back stiffened.
“Back then…” she took a deep breath, “why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
The room was eerily quiet.
Zong Heng finally turned around.
In the morning light, his silhouette seemed to be edged with gold, sharp yet blurred.
He looked at her, then suddenly strode over, grabbed the back of her neck, and pressed his forehead against hers—
"The fever is gone," he said in a low voice, seemingly unrelated to the question.
Xu Ying felt a lump in her throat.
She raised her hand to push him away, but he grabbed her wrist.
"Xu Ying," he called her name, his voice hoarse, "Do you want to hear the truth?"
She nodded.
Zong Heng was silent for a moment, then took out an iron box from the bag.
Zong Heng didn't speak again, but just looked at her quietly. His dark eyes were like a bottomless pool, hiding too many emotions that she couldn't understand.
Xu Ying took a deep breath, squatted down again, and slowly lifted the lid of the box.
The first thing that catches the eye is a stack of photos.
The yellowed edges showed that they were quite old, but each one was in excellent condition and neatly stacked on the top shelf of the box.
She picked up the top one—
In the photo, she is wearing her high school uniform and sitting by the window in the library, looking down at a book. Sunlight shines through the glass onto her profile, and her eyelashes cast a small shadow under her eyes.
It was taken from a hidden angle.
Her fingertips trembled slightly as she turned to the next page.
—On the track, she had her hair tied in a ponytail, her bangs damp with sweat, and she was smiling as she accepted a bottle of mineral water from a classmate.
—On the awards stage, she held her English competition certificate, her cheeks slightly flushed with excitement.
—In the classroom corridor, she was carrying a stack of exercise books, and the sunlight stretched her shadow long.
...
Every single one of them is of her.
Each photo captures a moment when she was completely unprepared.
“These…” Her voice choked, “When did you…”
"Second year of high school." Zong Heng leaned against the desk, his tone calm, as if discussing the weather. "I started filming after you transferred here."
Xu Ying suddenly looked up: "Back then you already..."
"Yes." He looked directly into her eyes, without any hesitation, "I like you."
Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand.
Below the photo is a stack of yellowed envelopes.
She recognized it as a letter she had written five years ago.
Each envelope had been opened, the edges were wrinkled, and it was clear that they had been examined countless times. The top envelope even had a crack at the seal, as if it had been roughly torn open.
“These letters…” Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.
“My dad intercepted it.” Zong Heng’s voice turned cold. “I only saw it last year.”
Xu Ying's fingertips traced the familiar handwriting on the envelope.
At that time, she thought Zong Heng didn't want her anymore.
She wrote letters for a whole year, but never received a reply.
She thought he had long forgotten her, and that her youth was just a one-woman show.
It turns out that's not the case.
It turns out he had also looked for her before.
It turns out that it was never just her wishful thinking that led to this relationship.
At the very bottom, there was a thick stack of draft paper.
She carefully took them out and found that each one was covered with writing, but had never been sent.
“Yingying, it’s raining in New York today. I’m standing by the apartment window and it suddenly occurred to me that you always forget to bring an umbrella.”
“I got my first patent. If you were here, you would definitely say with sparkling eyes, ‘Zong Heng, you are so amazing.’”
"It's been five years, and I still only know how to cook instant noodles. I still haven't learned how to make scrambled eggs with tomatoes that you taught me back then."
“I dreamt about you yesterday. In the dream, you asked me why I left without saying goodbye. I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t make a sound.”
...
Xu Ying's vision blurred.
A tear fell onto the paper, blurring the ink.
"Why didn't you send it to me?" She looked up, her voice trembling.
Zong Heng remained silent for a moment, then finally walked up to her, knelt on one knee, and looked her in the eye.
"Because I don't want to send you away with just a letter." His fingertip brushed against the corner of her eye, wiping away a tear. "I want to come back, to stand before you in person, and tell you—"
His voice was low and hoarse, yet every word was clear.
"Xu Ying, I have never let you go."
Outside the window, the wind rustled through the treetops.
The study was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard.
Xu Ying looked at the once unruly boy in front of her, who had now grown into a mature and steady man, but the stubbornness and deep affection in his eyes were exactly the same as they were back then.
She suddenly remembered that year in her senior year of high school, when he cornered her in the classroom after school and said through gritted teeth, "Xu Ying, I like you, are you in or not?"
She blushed and nodded, and he kissed her directly, his gesture both innocent and domineering.
Five years have passed.
They missed five years.
But some things have never changed.
She took a deep breath, finally reached out, and grabbed his collar.
Zong Heng's pupils contracted slightly.
"Zong Heng." She called his name, her voice still trembling with tears, yet unusually firm, "This time, if you dare to disappear again..."
He chuckled softly, then grabbed the back of her head and pressed his forehead against hers.
"Never again," he said softly. "Never again in this lifetime."
Xu Ying, back then I was only seventeen and had to bow my head. But now—"
His breath was hot against her lips:
"Slay gods if they stand in my way, slay Buddhas if they stand in my way."
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