Tang Yuxin is still young, she's only twelve years old. Who can tell what her future holds?
Chen Zhong's illness dragged on for another two months, and on a snowy day, he passed away.
His departure was quiet and without regret. Once Tang Yuxin had mastered the unique Chen-style acupuncture method, Chen Zhong's eyes had lost much of their vitality.
He had clung to life until now, waited until Tang Yuxin turned twelve. No one knew what he had been through and endured over the years.
For Chen Zhong, dying quietly under a blanket of white snow seemed more appealing than clinging to life in his decrepit state. It was an appropriate day for eternal rest.
Chen Zhong, much like a sleeping man, was breathing just yesterday, but today, there was nothing left.
