A breeze blew by.
The withered leaves on the barren hill were swept up by the wind, the air of Da Du at the end of autumn was dry, the moisture in the leaves had dried up, and these leaves were tangled together, making a crisp rustling sound.
A few withered leaves dry and brittle, crisply slapped against Song Ci's cheeks.
There was also the harsh, unpleasant cawing of crows echoing from the mountain, all reminding him—
It was all real.
Xiao Lu.
Had really come back.
Song Ci had thought more than once what he would say if the day ever came that Xiao Lu returned… the words he would use when they met again.
But when the moment actually arrived, all those earlier preparations were useless, his mind went blank, and he couldn't remember a single word of the phrases he had rehearsed in front of a mirror.
At the mountain top in late autumn, with the leaves flying, this scene was forever frozen, filled with a faint sorrow.
Since nobody spoke, the mountain top remained silent.
