Qin Shuang stared blankly at He Zhiyao.
Having just recovered from an illness, his complexion was very poor, ashen to the point of being utterly colorless, and he seemed even thinner. That once perfectly stunning face now carried a hint of fragmentation.
He looked somewhat unreal.
As if shrouded in a layer of mist.
This He Zhiyao was a far cry from the one in Qin Shuang's memory.
In the past, He Zhiyao had been proud and willful, even dangerously charming. He always took whatever he wanted and did as he pleased, maintaining an aloofness that left others with no choice but to look up to him.
Now, however, he was like a glass sculpture—hollow and fragile—seemingly at risk of complete destruction with the slightest carelessness.
Qin Shuang actually didn't know what she felt towards He Zhiyao now.
Ever since their reunion, her heart had been like a scale, constantly tipping, never truly at peace.
She wanted to sever all ties with him completely, to each go their separate ways.