When Ji Zhao accompanied Shen Yao back to the inn, it was already late.
In the early autumn night, the breeze carried a hint of coldness.
The moonlight was hazy, and the shadows of the trees floated. The night seemed to be even quieter.
Ji Zhao looked at Shen Yao, who was standing in front of the window with his hands behind his back. She called out worriedly, "Shen Yao, are you alright?"
Hearing Ji Zhao's voice, Shen Yao gradually came back to his senses.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Snow fungus pear soup. Drink it while it's hot," Ji Zhao suggested softly as she pointed at the table on the other side with a smile.
"Ah Tao, don't you think it's a form of happiness for a person to live a muddled life?" After drinking the bowl of snow fungus pear soup, Shen Yao suddenly sighed.
"I don't agree with that." Ji Zhao shook her head. "Everyone's life is different. No one can empathize with them."
