Jiang Ruan remained silent.
The grip on her arm was subtly intensifying.
"Yesterday, he saw the video of his father's death," Qian Yu's voice remained detached. This cold narration of facts felt like a series of sharp blades, piercing one's heart and lungs.
"He's been rendered to nothing more than a skeletal shell by this cruel world, yet he still dragged his ailing body in the hopes of seeing you."
Jiang Ruan's breathing began to grow heavier.
Her typically expressive face was now devoid of any emotion.
"He wanted to take hold of his last shred of hope—that is you, who gives him a reason to live." Qian Yu stared at her. "But you tore that salvation to shreds right in front of him."
Jiang Ruan felt as if her whole body was turning cold and her vision started to blur home whites.
The chilly wind from outside grew increasingly biting.
"It's only you." A light finally appeared in his eyes: "Only you can save him."
Why was Fu Chi clinging onto this devastating world?
