Luo Xiaoqian wanted to stand up and flee, but her legs were so weak that she had no strength to do so; she simply couldn’t stand up.
Her strength, her bravery, her stubbornness... all of it was absent when he wasn’t around. In front of this man, she was still the same Luo Xiaoqian who would get flustered and prone to mistakes at the sight of him.
Leng Zimo walked over and stopped his steps on the other side of the shrubbery.
The two of them were so close, only separated by a shrub wall less than half a meter tall.
This was the closest he had been to her in five years.
Luo Xiaoqian crouched on the ground, not daring to move, let alone raise her face.
Leng Zimo looked down at her from above.
The woman in front of him was thin, and although he couldn’t see her face, he could still tell she was very young. To judge a woman’s age, you don’t look at her face; you look at her neck.
Her long hair was tied up, revealing a snow-white and slender nape where the contour of her cervical vertebrae was clearly visible. She seemed to be crying, her shoulders gently trembling.
This was a cemetery, where everyone came with their own sorrow. It wasn’t strange at all.
He wondered whom she was visiting and for whom she was crying.
"I’m sorry for disturbing you," Leng Zimo said softly, apologizing.
He had just thought of her as a woman weeping alone here because of grief.
"No... it’s nothing," Luo Xiaoqian said, her voice trembling as she covered her face.
Her whole body was shaking, her heart pounding as if it were about to burst out of her chest.
It had been five years, this was the first time she had spoken to him, the first time she heard his voice so clearly.
Leng Zimo had intended to turn around and walk away, but the moment he heard her voice, he inexplicably stopped again.


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