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But for Xu Xiangyang, what he observed was not the fireworks.
He was listening; the explosive sounds, if listened to carefully, would seem deafening, thus masking his little thoughts and movements;
He was looking, stealthily looking, looking at Lin Xingjie, and also observing Zhu Qingyue.
Their porcelain-like profiles and the beautiful features unique to each of them.
Whether it was her or her, neither spoke at the moment, hence they seemed serene, their expressions calm and solemn, like sculptures frozen in beauty, as though all other people's images were created casually by the hand of heaven, while only these two were meticulously carved with a small knife.
When this kind of perfection was set against the black night and the faintly howling wind, it acquired an exceptional sense of beauty, different from the lively impression they usually left, almost sacred.
