In the snowfield, Lu Ying's chest was warm.
Shen Yinning buried her face into his chest, almost greedily inhaling the scent of cedar that clung to him.
Her voice was softer than snowflakes: "Lu Ying, I no longer have a home."
Father, mother, elder brother—all her most cherished kin were now gone from this world.
There would no longer be anyone to carve a carousel lamp for her birthday gift, no one to hold her in their arms with a smile and say Zhaozhao looked so much like her mother, no one to sneak in with a puppy over the wall and offer it to her as if presenting treasure.
She was alone in this world, without a home.
The girl's tears dampened Lu Ying's lapel.
Though it was a snowy night, Lu Ying felt his chest burning hot.
He gently stroked Shen Yinning's back and brushed her head lightly with his chin. For a long while, he held her until he was sure the little girl in his arms had calmed down before picking her up entirely.
