Jiang Jinghuai pushed open the door and saw her, and she was in a daze.
His gaze fell on the blood on her body, still carrying a trace of warmth. His eyes deepened. From his years of experience, he could tell that the blood wasn't hers; it was someone else's, spilled accidently on her during some incident.
His heart ached. He squatted down in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders: "Sangsang... Sangbao..."
Her head tilted slightly, her delicate face lifeless, as if she hadn't heard him speak.
"Sangsang." He called softly and gently shook her.
Only then did she slowly come back to her senses, looking at him blankly. "Jiang Jinghuai, why are you home today?"
"Scared silly?" His warm palm gently brushed across her face, wiping over the bloodstains, his voice tender, "Silly girl, it's Sunday."
"Oh." She let out a tearful "oh," and then the tears rolled down, one after another.
Such a beautiful day. Yet she felt as if she were in hell on earth.
