"Yang Lingyun…Can you hear me?" Xia Lihua asked. "Is it… less painful now? Tell me… say something…"
For a moment, there was nothing—no response from him at all.
Her chest tightened as panic began to rise again inside her.
Then, finally, Yang Lingyun moved. His hand shifted weakly, his fingers brushing against hers.
Before she could even react, he gently pulled her a little closer and kissed her. It wasn't strong or steady—it was fragile, almost fading—like he was afraid even that small contact might slip away.
And in that one brief moment, everything else disappeared again.
It felt like it was her last kiss.
The kiss trembled, unsteady, carrying the weight of everything he couldn't say out loud.
He slowly deepened it.
Despite the weakness in his body, there was something certain in the way he held her there, as if he was trying to memorize the feeling, to leave a part of himself behind. The kiss lingered longer than it should have, longer than his strength allowed.
