Ye Yan clasped her suitcase, "Excuse me, please make way."
Fu Xingzhou stood at the door, unmoved.
Ye Yan didn't bother with chatter and squeezed through the narrow gap between the door and him, walking out.
This time, Fu Xingzhou did not step forward again.
She returned to the bedroom to grab a few more items, then pushed two heavy suitcases out the door.
She took only her belongings, not taking anything he had given her, including the skirt.
At this moment, that skirt lay forlornly folded at the edge of the bed. He could clearly remember her dancing gracefully on stage wearing it.
Fu Xingzhou sat by the bedside, his right hand gently placed on the skirt, its silky texture as smooth as her porcelain skin, which he couldn't help but stroke back and forth.
And at his chest, he didn't know if it was the knife wound pulling, a wave of throbbing pain followed another, so severe that he almost couldn't breathe.
Click!
The door swung open again.
