Tang Shuwen stood alone on the balcony, silently smoking. The Parisian night was dazzling, with a long river in the distance and a row of castles on the opposite bank, their lights glittering like pearls set along the riverbanks.
The night was also serene. Standing on the opposite bank, admiring the night view, offered a unique charm.
Smoke rings curled upwards from between his fingers. He had already smoked three cigars, his mood at rock bottom. Tang Shuwen wasn't a heavy smoker; he would smoke one or two when work stress was high, and a few when he was out with Ye Ershao and the others. It wasn't often, and like tonight, smoking several at once was almost unheard of. There was an inexpressible irritation in his heart.
He was experiencing for the first time what it meant to reap what you sow, to be beyond saving.
