There was no one around, and the pale moonlight seemed even lonelier in the dark night. The man stood in front of the window, as graceful as bamboo, and the moonlight added a bit of beauty to his beauty.
Wen Xian's face was expressionless.
It was strangely calm.
He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, and there were two simple words on it.
[ do it. ]
The man's long eyelashes drooped, and his pale face revealed a bit of weakness. He silently moved the note above the candle, his expression a little dazed, and his dark eyes were bottomless.
The tiny flame instantly devoured the note.
It turned into ashes inch by inch.
Wen Xian's snow-white fingertips touched the flame, but he slowly moved his hand away as if he couldn't feel the pain.
His movements were slow.
What was he struggling with?
He did not know.
