After ten long years, he never expected Xia Qianxi and Xing Tuo’s names would still be entangled, reappearing in his life.
Xing Tuo’s back stiffened: “What exactly will it take… for you to agree?”
Zhong Mingjie’s smile disappeared. He stared directly at Xing Tuo: “What do you think? The once-lofty young master of the Xing family, the famous third prince who could arbitrarily manipulate others’ fates, would actually be powerless?”
“I… am willing to apologize for what happened back then… I’m sorry.”
Zhong Mingjie looked at him, his deep phoenix eyes seeming to have unrestrained sparks, burning wildly, capable of reducing everything to ashes.
He had seen such a gaze once ten years ago. That was when he went to find Xing Tuo about the photos, already beaten into a semi-unconscious state, thinking he might die right then.
But ultimately, Xing Tuo still let him go, for her sake.
In that moment of falling, he clearly saw Xing Tuo’s gaze fixed on Xia Qianxi.
At that moment, he knew he had completely lost, whether in his war with Xing Tuo or for Qianxi’s heart – something he had always refused to acknowledge.
“Okay, I agree,” Zhong Mingjie’s voice clearly echoed through the empty corridor: “I’m not agreeing because of your apology – your apology means nothing to me – but because of her, Xia Qianxi.”
The white figure stood silently outside the intensive care unit, looking through the transparent window at the woman lying pale and still on the bed, her hands intertwined with another’s.
He turned to leave, with one final pure image in his mind: snowflakes drifting down silently, the world immersed in a gentle white, and her slight smile forever frozen in his memory.
He could never hate her, for she had given him such a beautiful memory during that most beautiful time, even if it was just a fleeting glimpse.
So, he would only wish her happiness.
The night was deep.
The woman lying quietly on the hospital bed was pale, almost translucent, her black satin hair spread on the white pillow.
A thin wrist connected to an IV, liquid dripping silently through the transparent tube, while her other hand was tightly held by a distinct, knuckled hand.
