"Mi Yao, it's actually okay not to have a son, as long as you don't forget me. If I'm forgotten by you, I'll feel... that I've walked this life... so alone."
Feng Yueming laughed, his eyes shimmering with broken lights like a multitude of fine stars, so mesmerizing they could suck one's soul away. Mi Yao forgot how to react; then she saw him slowly close his eyes.
He closed his eyes?
Was he asleep?
Mi Yao's mind was in a daze, then she slowly stretched out her white jade-like small foot and nudged his trouser-covered leg. He was still wearing the trousers that had been torn with many bloody cuts, which was... inexplicably heart wrenching.
"Hey, Feng Yueming, what trick are you playing again? Don't think I will forgive you—I will never forgive you in this lifetime, I hate you!"
"Now get away from me, don't lie next to me, being with you makes me feel suffocated!"
The man on the bed remained motionless; then his large hand weakly fell off the bed.
Mi Yao's pupils shrank.
