Sometimes, he would glance at her unconsciously. She was leaning against the seatback, her eyes gently closed.
Sleet began to fall, quickly coating the windshield with a thin layer of mist. The wipers were running, but the fog soon returned to obscure their view, and the car slowed down even further.
The car was surprisingly quiet, so much so that he could even hear the THUMP-THUMP of her heart. Her motionless eyelashes were a stark contrast to its frantic beat, yet her breaths were gentle.
The sweet fragrance filled the air around his nose, the scene before his eyes—it was all just as it had been years ago.
Then, Huang Xiaojue suddenly had a strange wish: If only this road would never end, if only we could journey on like this, ceaselessly, even to the ends of the earth.
However, even the longest road eventually reaches its end.
