The faint daylight seeped shallowly through the glass window, spreading softly over the tiled floor. The room was so quiet it seemed as if no sound could be heard.
The air carried a hint of ambiguity, seeping through strands of cold wind and penetrating into her body. Her originally thin and cool blood was warmed through, beginning to burn and boil. Tiny dust particles floated in the ethereal light and shadow, lingering and slowly swirling.
Two hearts pressed together, and at this moment, finally parted the fog of Berlin, clinging tightly to each other.
Chang Xuyu rubbed her eyes. When she looked at him again, they were already red and swollen.
"How many times a day do you make me cry? Seriously," she kissed the corner of his lips happily, but a pang of pain suddenly struck her heart. "Yi Zhuo, you know clearly, I'm sick."
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