But Yun Mo kept walking forward.
The sight of his handsome and unrestrained figure fading into the distance blurred in Qiao Xiaon'an's gaze. It was supposed to be clear, yet because of the tears of grievance in her eyes, it became unclear.
The beautiful city was bustling with life under the dim evening lights, with constant flow of people and traffic, but in Qiao Xiaon'an's eyes, it seemed desolate. Even the night wind seemed to be lashing out at her, ruffling her clothes. She held her clothes tight to herself, shivering in the cold.
She thought that Yun Mo would not wait for her.
But when he found out she was not behind him, he looked back and turned around.
Seeing her in such distress, he could not bear to leave her alone on the street. He let out a deep sigh, walked back, and held her tiny, pale hand tightly in his.
Feeling the familiar warmth emanating from his palm, Qiao Xiaon'an gripped Amo's hand even tighter. He pulled her forward, but she remained still.
