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The gentle breeze of an October evening was neither urgent nor agitated, but anything in this world that had even the slightest connection to "autumn" carried with it a trace of desolation.
On this day, as Fu Jing arrived, she passed by the long recreational area of the hospital, where maple leaves either clung to the trees in blazing reds or fluttered down in carefree cascades.
The same tree, two different lives.
Thus, when she came in carrying a basket of flowers, a few withered yellow leaves had fallen onto the lilies that topped the basket.
Gu Jiangnian saw this and bent down slightly.
This movement startled Fu Jing so much she took two steps back.
Upon closer inspection, she saw his slender fingertips holding a withered leaf.
And with a lingering smile, he looked at Fu Jing. She thought if beauty could truly throw a nation into turmoil, Gu Jiangnian would certainly be one such instance.
