Her mind was once again filled with Zhan Nanjue, from their first meeting to their last encounter.
Her at four. Her at twenty-two.
Eighteen years of her life.
He went from a little boy who was cluelessly watching a dying pigeon, to the towering figure he is now.
He never knew he was always the way she imagined him to be.
The way she imagined him was just like this. So she couldn't forget, let go, escape, or avoid it.
Gong Shirao felt pain in her heart and in her organs, as if an invisible giant hand was pressing down tightly...
'Little brother, I didn't intend to wish you well, but I feel like I might really die. If I'm really going to die, I have to wish you well before that...'
'Please... be happy...'
'You must, must be... happy...'
It was only at that moment she realized he didn't need her to be very happy. He never needed her; he had always been happy.
Maybe she shouldn't have entered his world in the first place...
——Gong Shirao, wait for me to come back.
