Amidst the symphony of melancholy, Zhao Ming's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. The passage of time was a silent witness to his internal struggle, urging him to embrace life's fleeting moments. At the crossroads of emotions, Zhao Ming lingered, where happiness and hesitation intertwined like vines in a garden of feelings.
He stood straight with his hands resting at his back, staring at the silk drape flowing along with the gentle breeze, his gaze travelling from the wide-open gate and fixated at the entrance of his mother's room.
Zhao Ming was so lost in his own debating world that he didn't notice his mother's saviour appearing beside him. "Your Highness, why aren't you going inside?" Xuan Cheng asked with a gentle smile tugging on her lips. She knew he wanted to go and visit his mother and see how she is doing after the long hours of treatment.
