Dying? He was dying?!
"How… how is that possible?" Li Meirong murmured, more to herself than to him. She had been completely blindsided by the confession.
Zhu Qingyue didn't answer. The rain caused his long hair, darker now it was wet, to cling to his skin like grey ink, obscuring the look of weakness that had come to his face.
He was, Li Meirong thought, one of those people who couldn't be read easily. Every time she had encountered him in the past, his expression had barely changed. He would say the most confusing things to her, turning her world inside out with a mere sentence. However, his baritone voice had always sounded completely calm and untroubled. He had always seemed entirely unfazed by anything that he had encountered or said.
Now, however, she could sense the sorrow that radiated from him, could hear the heartbreak and even fear in his voice.
