Gong Yeyan stepped out of the elevator and walked a few steps forward when the frail, desolate figure of a girl sitting alone on the bench caught his eye.
He halted in his tracks.
Ming Ge had always been exquisite in his presence, even her occasional disheveled moments couldn't hide the vigor deep within her bones.
Unlike now—the girl's dark hair and long dress were slightly disordered, her whole body exuded a sense of defeat.
Like a withered rose, devoid of its luster.
About ten seconds or so passed before the man resumed his stride.
He approached.
Only then did he notice the uneven dark red stains on the girl's gossamer skirt that resembled the night sky—those were actually blood.
The man's ink-black eyebrows tightly knitted as he quickly walked over, stopping only when he was in front of her.
A tall figure loomed over the girl who sat on the bench, her hand resting on her forehead, her dark curly hair scattered, veiling her fair face.
