At this point, Feng Zhiwei had returned to the veranda and replaced her mask, was now approaching the Madam's Li Hua Residence.
Her pace was as quick as the breeze as she passed through the hallways and into the courtyard, passing by the young servant girls and elderly crones, none of whom saw her clearly.
The summer wind felt bitterly cold against Feng Zhiwei's skin, but also as if stifling hot, as if a ball of fire was piercing though her chest and burning up her insides to ash.
Everything was ash, and all that remained of those inextricable ties of kinship and her timid, hopeful expectations of reunion was her bitter heart, but still she strode forth to protect the unwilling, unsought for and unthanked.
Why bother? Why suffer?
She carried her chestful of sadness as she walked briskly in the warm breeze, as if the wind in her face could pull away the bitterness in her heart.
Suddenly, a hand reached over and gently touched her shoulder.
