Back then, Yi Ling had cried whenever Yan Huan had to dunk herself in icy cold water. Yan Huan had, in turn, cried because she had made Yi Ling cry. Those had been the worst years of their life, and both of them had tried their best not to bring up the painful memories. But those days were now hazy and distant; the suffering they had had to endure seemed unbelievable, in retrospect.
Yan Huan lifted her face to the bracing wind. There was already an icy bite to the breeze; winter was coming.
"Oh, they left." Lei Qingyi looked up from his food and was surprised to see that the table he had been watching was now empty. He mentally kicked himself for not having gone over to ask for an autograph; he had nothing to lose, anyway. Maybe she was not the woman they had saved, but she could have been Yan Huan. Or maybe the woman they had saved was, in fact, the one and only Yan Huan.
