Xiao Luo walked towards where Zhao Mengqi lay, tucked in her bed, asleep. He couldn't tell if she was in deep slumber. He peered at her face from where he stood, and she appeared pale in the dim-lit room. There was a look of casual indifference on his face, a look that hardly conveyed how much she used to mean to him.
Did he resent her?
To be honest, for a time, he felt bitter. He just couldn't believe it happened. He kept running it through his mind, endlessly. Then the accident happened. That certainly jolted him back to his senses, a new perspective, if you like. He couldn't keep clinging on to past events that he had no control over. It was time to let go. Perhaps the specter of death does that to a man – it removed the clutter and helped him to see life as it was.
