Finally, footsteps sounded outside the door, clearly those deliberately subdued to avoid disturbing Fu Han.
The last bit of strength keeping Fu Han from collapsing finally ran out. She fell to the ground, like a drifting duckweed, vulnerable to being capsized by any wave or gust.
Tears uncontrollably streamed down her face. Fu Han never knew she had so many tears, and it seemed she was growing fonder of crying; even the smallest things could make her weep like a spring.
...
He Xing had been on his feet the whole day, so busy that he barely had time to eat or drink. Even his dinner had been hastily nibbled at, and now his stomach was unexpectedly growling with hunger.
He rushed back, intending to take Fu Han out for a late-night snack. He thought it would be cool for a couple to do so on the eve of their wedding—it could become a memorable moment for them in their old age.
