She spoke incoherently, and every word she said was burning hot, starting a new conversation that burned Ye Qingliu.
The eyes that had observed the universe and analyzed the laws of nature were now looking at the face in front of them, which was full of deep wrinkles and tears, in disbelief and almost out of focus.
All the coldness, all the alienation, all the absolute rationality of an observer were shaken at this moment by this desperate embrace.
"Grandma Sun?" His voice was dry and hoarse, with unprecedented hesitation and tremor.
This name that was forcibly erased by the rules of the world, this name that only existed in the depths of his cold memory, slipped out of his lips uncontrollably.
"It's me! It's me, the old woman!" Sun Guixiang cried and nodded vigorously, her tears splashing on his clothes.
"You..." He spoke with difficulty, his voice so low and hoarse that it almost broke, "You shouldn't remember."
The observer's logic warned him that the resetting of rules was absolute and the retention of memory was a dangerous anomaly.
But when he said this, there was a very faint sob that he himself was not even aware of.
The temperature of her tear was like a red-hot iron, burning through the hardest layer of ice deep in Ye Qingliu's soul.
His stiff body, in that tight embrace and amidst the surging tears, trembled ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly...
Deep in his gray-blue eyes, the huge waves that had been stirred up seemed to quietly settle down after a brief period of violence, leaving behind an extremely subtle sense of confusion and hesitation that even he himself could not understand.
The fingertips of his bony hands hanging at his sides curled slightly.
Not pushed open.
No break free.
He stood there, frozen like an ice sculpture under a spell, on the last step of Qinglan Bridge. The withered old man behind him, crying bitterly and holding him tightly, held tightly in his arms with a gesture of absolute possession.
However, this is not the end.
Sun Guixiang's hot tears, through the thin fabric of the school uniform, seemed to have some kind of power that could penetrate the soul, continuously burning his skin.
The surging emotions, the great sorrow and joy of losing and regaining, the desperate embrace... were like invisible waves, hitting his cold barriers again and again.
The bridge of his tall nose twitched slightly.
The tightly pursed thin lips, the lines that seemed to have never had any curves, were pursed even more slightly... as if trying hard to suppress something.
Then, from an angle no one could see—behind those delicate silver-rimmed glasses, in the depths of those gray-blue eyes, like the surface of a frozen lake—
An extremely tiny, almost imperceptible moisture quietly gathered at the base of the long eyelashes that were as thick as crow feathers.
a little.
A little more.
The moisture gathered silently, like the first drop of dew on a glacier quietly melting in the sun. Finally, it could not bear the weight and slid down the pale and almost transparent skin extremely slowly and silently...
One drop.
It was crystal clear, carrying the chill of the deepest bottom of the frozen lake, yet reflecting fragments of the blazing sunlight overhead.
It slid across the contours of his handsome yet cold face, leaving no obvious traces of tears, as if it were just dew condensed on his skin.
It slid across the corners of his tightly pursed, beautifully contoured lips, and finally, dripped onto the front of his dark blue school uniform, quickly spreading a small dark spot, which then blended with the traces of Sun Guixiang's tears and disappeared.
Silently.
There was no sobbing, no choking, and even the breathing rate did not change.
Only the tears that slipped quietly disappeared in the dazzling sunlight, as if they had never existed.
He slowly, bit by bit, bent his back, which had always been straight and as proud as a green bamboo.
This observer who never bowed his head in destruction and rebirth, for the first time, took off all his cold shell and heavy shackles in front of the world.
He tilted his head slightly and gently, with complete trust and indescribable fatigue, placed his smooth, full forehead against the old man's gray, sweat-soaked hair.
"I'm back." He leaned against the old man's head, his voice as light as a sigh, with a barely perceptible tremor, but it fell clearly into Sun Guixiang's ears.
Sun Guixiang's body shook violently, and she tightened her arms around him, as if she wanted to rub him into her bones and blood.
She nodded vigorously, her tears flowing more violently, mixed with sweat and smiles, flowing freely on her wrinkled face.
"Go home! Little boy, let's go home! I'll make you some mung bean soup! A big pot!"
Her rough hand tightly grasped his slightly cool, slender hand covering the back of her hand, and her skinny fingers tried to wrap around his fingertips.
On the top of the bridge not far away, Ning Xiwan stared at the scene in a daze, tears welling up in her eyes without warning.
She didn't understand why she was crying. She just felt like her heart was being tightly grasped by a warm yet sour hand, causing her pain.
The image of the cold boy crying silently was like a needle, piercing deep into the fog of her memory.
Bai Zhiye stared blankly at Sun Guixiang holding Ye Qingliu's hand tightly, and rubbed her empty wrist again in a daze.
There, the sharp stinging pain miraculously disappeared, replaced by a strange, warm and sore feeling.
Duan Shuce pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The lenses reflected the strong light, covering his instantly red eyes and the turbulent waves surging in his eyes that almost broke through the shackles of rules.
The power of the supervisor let out an unprecedented cry the moment the old man hugged the young man.
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