Even in the simplest gestures, Gu Jingchen carried perfection to the extreme.
From yesterday until now, the old man, who had always been slightly germophobic, hadn't bothered to shave. After a night's rest, his beard had grown into faint stubble, making him appear even more relaxed and tantalizing.
Honestly, since yesterday, the old man had been extraordinarily stubborn. He would never admit how much inner torment and sadness he'd endured, how much his heart ached. The man who always treated work like his lifeblood couldn't get anything done from yesterday onward. He ended up loitering in the bar, insisting on staying sober—he couldn't drink excessively because he had to care for his poor stomach. He could only sip his drink one tiny mouthful at a time, dragging his misery from one moment to the next.
