Jiang Xiangyang walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window, casting his gaze toward the distant sea, shrouded in misty haze. He took out a cigarette but soon crushed it and threw it into the nearby trash can.
Countless times, he had stood on the land of Macau, allowing his heart to calm. He quietly missed the person deep in his heart and wondered if she was doing well.
A “buzzing” sound interrupted his thoughts. He answered the phone, “San Bao, what’s up?”
“Brother Jiang, the hospital just called. Miss Xinyao’s condition has improved. They want us to assist with her treatment. Heaven finally has eyes!” San Bao exclaimed.
Suddenly, Jiang Xiangyang felt a tightness in his heart. He turned to the small figure on the bed, his Adam’s apple moving dramatically.
“San Bao, go to the hospital first, check on Xinyao’s condition, and then call me. I’ll come back immediately.”
He abruptly ended the call, returned to the bedroom, and avoided looking at the figure on the bed. He picked up the scattered clothes and dressed quickly. The door closed with a bang, and silence returned.
The figure on the bed stirred, tears flowing from her eyes. Jing Xin didn’t wipe them. She sobbed softly, then turned to loud whimpers as her body shook violently. She felt as fragile as a leaf in autumn.
Would Jiang Xiangyang ever be a part of her life again?
When love becomes pain, isn’t a still heart a kind of liberation? Jing Xin leaned by the window, overlooking the city from the eighteenth floor. Cold laughter escaped her lips—prosperity is an illusion; everything will fade, and memories are but fleeting shadows!
Forget it! Let it all go! Dressed and composed, breathing in the crisp morning air, Jing Xin stepped through the hotel’s grand revolving door. May her life, like this door, turn a full circle and welcome new light!
Chapter Forty-Nine: Turning Point
July passed, and scorching August arrived. Jing Xin had grown fond of sitting quietly on the beach, sometimes questioning why August had thirty-one days, granting her an extra day of torment.
