Qin Youxue's body slowly slid to the floor, and she hugged her knees, crying silently.
She knew that if she just stood by the window and called out Jiang Yang's name, she might be rescued.
Yet she didn't dare to.
She didn't know how to face Jiang Yang, didn't know how to explain to him the sorry state she was in now, or why it was so.
She couldn't face him at all; she wanted to remain in his eyes as the stubborn and pure Qin Youxue, not a wanton woman entangled with his cousin.
She held her head, breaking down in tears.
Jiang Yang left, and the sky gradually darkened.
She stood up in a daze, watching the moon slowly rise on the horizon.
It was another clear evening.
But she couldn't see her own future anymore.
The future she had imagined crumbled on this very day.
The cold wind blew in through the window, drying the tears on her face. Qin Youxue slowly turned her head, seeing the small fruit knife on the coffee table.
