"How do you define love?" Qin Yao asked Song Zhaozhao with a laugh.
Song Zhaozhao pursed her lips, her radiant face showing a flicker of emotion as she seriously considered the question. After a moment, she said, "At the very least, you must have the determination to survive for someone as if life itself depended on it."
It was a truly moving statement, but it seemed, oddly enough, disconnected from reality.
The majority of people will never face a situation of utmost despair in their lifetimes, so much less is it to speak of having the determination to fight desperately to live for that person.
Yet, as Qin Yao looked at her, the smile in his eyes slowly vanished and his expression turned serious. He said, word by word, "Song Zhaozhao, how do you know I haven't?"
He grasped her hand tightly and gazed at her unwaveringly, his eyes filled with an indescribable complexity of emotions.
—Song Zhaozhao, how do you know that I haven't lived through death for you?
