Mu Xiaojiu's people left. Everyone had left.
On the seaside dock, under the silent night sky, there was only a solitary figure left.
He stood in the dark night with blood dripping from his wrist, drop by drop.
But his face was void of expressions, allowing the evening breeze to dry the blood at his feet...
In his mind, scenes from many years ago were constantly replayed.
It was a winter, a snowy evening.
A boy, wearing thin clothes, curled up in a corner on the street. He hadn't eaten for days.
On this bustling street, people were coming and going, but nobody noticed the boy who was about to die.
Hunger, coldness. The smell of death was getting stronger in this desperate night...
He didn't know how many nights he had spent on the ground.
Suddenly, a clear and pleasant voice brought back some consciousness to the boy, "What's wrong with you?"
In a blur, he saw that it was a little girl.
She was wearing a thick down jacket and a mask covering half of her face.
