Of course, Huang Xiaojue wasn't at home.
No matter what extravagant hopes she hugged to herself, what fantasies she indulged in… Huang Xiaojue had long since disappeared from that home—as if that place was merely the last safe harbor he left for her. The last thing he did for her.
There, he'd prepared every kind of fake ID for her, plus some cash… She took those things and, almost without hesitation, immediately got on a train and traveled in circles, like some half‑baked secret agent, wandering from one small country to another.
Back then, she was entirely chasing after Huang Xiaojue. She wanted to find him. She had a thousand, ten thousand questions she needed to ask him.
But in the end, she still never found him.
...
The shock in Wan Donglin's heart was imaginable.
His hands were clasped, the knuckles faintly jutting out, the veins on his forehead faintly bulging: so this matter was ten, a hundred times more serious than he had imagined.
