The man walked to the side of the sofa and sat down. With one glance out, he could see the bag with a scarf inside and the recipe record book on the coffee table.
Luo Xiao walked to the streetlamp and squatted down. The metallic surface of the post had been deformed by the crash. He reached out to touch it, the screeching collision from that night still echoed in his ears. He withdrew his hand and looked up, seeing the guardrail that was hit crooked by the accident still unrepaired.
Mo Nanjue stood up, with one hand in his pocket, walked to the balcony, and picked up the Ah Li pillow from the wicker chair. His fingers sank into the soft pillow, and he raised it to let the pillow touch his nose, feeling the familiar scent of the woman.
