Luo Tingfeng puffed out grey smoke, watching the two entwined figures, his gaze lingering on the lean silhouette of the man.
Suddenly, he twisted his lips into a cryptic smile.
Fu Chi, a man who had been tormented by the world until he was left with nothing whole, was taught by his family only the coldness of human nature, ruthless and indifferent. And yet, only in front of this girl, he showed immeasurable tenderness.
He had indeed become a hopeless romantic.
He laughed silently.
Crushing the burnt-out cigarette butt, he quietly drove away.
*
The streetlight above cast long shadows of the two figures, their shadows on the ground almost seamlessly blended together.
Jiang Ruan's body was still a bit rigid.
The man's breath enveloped her, a faint smell of disinfectant mixed with the unique sandalwood scent from him, seeping into her nostrils without any gap.
It was an addictive scent.
"Fu Chi?"
She pursed her lips, unmoving.