He clearly no longer wanted her.
But why now, did she see nothing but painful obsession in his eyes?
Death?
This word, she had thought about thousands, tens of thousands of times.
But if she died, would it really be liberation?
Maybe for her, it would indeed be liberation.
But for those who still live in this world, those who care about her, it would be endless harm.
Jian Liangtong closed her eyes, her tear-streaked face pressed against his cold cheek, she cried continuously, hoarsely and sadly asking him, "Do you still like me?"
Huo Shaojun's heartstrings trembled violently, his knuckles turned white with tension, and he sneered, "Does it matter?"
It matters, how could it not?
Jian Liangtong lifted her tearstained little face, her cool palm touching his face, "Little brother..."
She called him.
That "little brother" seemed to come from afar, across mountains and rivers.
