Muo Huangnian's gaze, along with his entire being, seemed frozen in place. His fingers still hovered beneath her nose, unmoving.
He didn't press against her philtrum. He had seen far too many corpses to not know, with absolute clarity, that she was already gone.
He even found himself calmly wondering how much this woman must have wanted to stop loving him, to use death as the method for cutting ties so cleanly.
So foolish.
He thought she was foolish—foolish from the beginning, and foolish even now.
And what difference does it make, her dying? What impact could her death possibly have on him?
It was just death. He had already survived Qingyi's passing, endured countless cruel moments of gaining only to lose. Losing her would be no different.
Yet, even as he told himself this out of habit, he still could not lift his fingers from where they hovered beneath her nose. It felt as if he were plunged into an icy abyss, with every inch of blood in his body frozen solid.
