Zhang Ziwen watched her silhouette disappear around the stairwell corner. These last few days of cold war, they had spoken more today than any other time, but today's conversation was heartbreaking. His heart felt as heavy as if a giant stone was pressing down on it, causing a slight pain. It was hard for him to breathe. Tang Ying, beautiful and noble woman, how could his heart not ache for her?
It was late into the night, goose feather-like snow was falling outside, but the luxurious bedroom inside was as warm as spring. Tang Ying did not come down for dinner, and since she went upstairs, Zhang Ziwen hadn't seen her again. The plane ticket was on the bedside table, he was leaving New York tomorrow, leaving the beautiful Tang Ying behind. Lying in bed, Zhang Ziwen tossed and turned, wondering why, when he was on the verge of leaving, she didn't spend more time with him. Was she still mad at him? But it didn't seem like it. Zhang Ziwen sighed softly, he couldn't figure it out.
