9 a.m., the apartment's doors and windows were tightly closed, casting the rooms into darkness.
Lu Wanwan squatted in the corner of the room, hugging her knees, with her red-rimmed eyes glazed over.
Since Zhao Chen brought her back, she had remained in that position, just like when her mother died, locking herself in the room for days until the day of the funeral.
From outside the room, the sound of the door opening was heard, followed by the urgent footsteps of someone entering quickly.
She lifted her head, eyes wide, seeing through the haze the fast-paced approach of a man.
Gu Annan said nothing and walked over to her, lifting her from the ground, "The floor is cold."
His voice was low, as if carrying the power to soothe the soul.
Lu Wanwan's eyes once again filled with tears, revealing the vulnerable defenselessness of her heart.
"Gu Annan..." She hugged his shoulders tightly, so hard her arms trembled.
