A petite figure flits towards Zhang Ziwen like a bird, flying to her desired destination. The familiar silhouette, posture, movement — all were uniquely Tang Shu's, she would never deny Zhang Ziwen's embrace. A feeling she had longed for, intimate, intoxicated. She had missed him for too long and, at last, she returned to his arms. How comfortable, Tang Shu was content. The agony and hardship of these past days vanished the moment she lay in his arms. That simple wish of hers, to nestle into his sturdy, warm chest, inhaling his scent, enjoying the touch of his hand grooming her tresses, soaking in his tenderness. The tears of sheer bliss moistened Zhang Ziwen's shirt. She had the right to freely weep in his arms…