The winter weather always turned to night so quickly, and Yao Qing had immediately lit a cigarette after coming out.
She was too stifled, the private room was too stuffy, she had grown too weary of such scenes.
Empty pleasantries, cups clinking in toasts, everyone harboring their own concerns.
Drawing breath in and then exhaling, it was as if she expelled the suffocation as well.
Cars streaked by one after the other as she glanced down at the time on her phone.
Half-past nine, still early.
Ruan Qiu had gone to meet with her insomniac gentleman again, and there was no one at home if she returned now.
Her father... Although the time to visit him in prison was drawing near, it hadn't arrived yet.
It was funny to think that in the vastness of Yaocheng, she hardly found any place warm enough to settle into.
Sometimes she felt that what kept her alive was the purpose buried deep in her heart.
If she achieved her purpose, what then?
