In the living room, only one wall lamp was on, emitting a faint glow. The light was very dim, yet she could clearly see Cheng Ziyang's complexion, as pale as paper.
Dong Xin Yan was startled; she had never seen him like this before, not even when Aunt Cheng was sick did he look so bad.
A trace of worry quickly flashed in her eyes, and she hurriedly spoke, "Ziyang, what's wrong? Why do you look so awful?"
Cheng Ziyang sat motionless, showing no reaction, as if his entire soul had been taken away.
Dong Xin Yan's voice trembled slightly. She gently reached out, touching him, "Ziyang…."
In the deep silence of the night, a cold breeze seeped in through a poorly closed window. Although the indoor heating was ample, Cheng Ziyang still shivered from the cold.
His body was not cold, but his heart was ice cold to the extreme.
"Xinxin." Cheng Ziyang slowly began to speak, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a deep heaviness.
