Beijing in the spring, the afternoon sun warm and bright.
Mother Leng’s grave was at this mont bathing in a swathe of sunlight, and Leng Zimo’s figure was also entirely wrapped in a layer of sunlight.
Five years had passed, and Luo Xiaoqian had never stopped paying attention to him, even attending so of Emperor View’s events just for a chance to see him, yet this was the first ti she was so close to him.
Compared to five years ago, he seed to have lost so weight, but his face bore not a single trace of the passage of ti.
She was only a few steps away from him, and she could clearly see his face, his intelligent wide forehead, thick eyebrows with beautiful arches, long eyelashes tinged golden-brown by the sun, and sensual thin lips beneath a straight nose.
Those lips, she had once kissed with such passion, and they had also kissed her with scorching heat, saying to her the most moving and sincere sweet nothings in the world.
His eyes, still as bright as ever, showed faint signs of being bloodshot, suggesting that he must have often stayed up late when she was not around.
Luo Xiaoqian subconsciously tightened her grip on the branch she was holding, her fingertips lightly caressing a new leaf as if touching his face.
Leng Zimo, completely unaware, carefully wiped his mother’s tombstone clean.
After folding his handkerchief and putting it in his pocket, he stood up and bowed three tis to his mother.
Thinking he was going to leave, Luo Xiaoqian quickly crouched down.
However, Leng Zimo did not depart but instead bent down to pick sothing up from the ground, and when he straightened up, he had a few blades of grass between his fingers.
The lawns in the cetery had just been trimd, and this blade of grass must have been accidentally left behind by a worker; it was nothing special.
Tossing the grass into a nearby trash can and glancing at the faint green stains on his palm, an image of another hand suddenly flashed through Leng Zimo’s mind.
That hand was smaller than his, with long slender fingers and not a bit of excess flesh, a very beautiful hand.
Except that the snow-white palm was stained with the green of grass...
His head began to throb faintly.
He raised his hand to press against the aching temple, and Leng Zimo’s brows furrowed deeply.
Returning to his mother’s grave, he slowly lowered himself to sit on the steps.
"Mom, do you think I’m sick? Why does my head keep hurting lately, and my mories are fragnted? Could it be that there’s sothing wrong with my brain?"
Behind the bushes, listening to his puzzled, soft-spoken words, Luo Xiaoqian’s heart tightened.
Could it be that hypnotism had so side effects?!
"I don’t know why, but I always feel so empty inside, like I’ve lost sothing important, but... I just can’t rember what it is..."
Leng Zimo was always stubborn, and such matters were naturally not sothing he would share with anyone; the only one he could confide in was his deceased mother.
Luo Xiaoqian, hidden behind the bushes, felt heartache listening to his distressed voice.
She had thought that if he didn’t rember her, he wouldn’t hurt, but she hadn’t expected that he was not happy either.
Zimo, I’m sorry!
Leng Zimo, hearing an unusual noise from behind the bushes, suddenly stood up.
"Who’s there?!"
Had he discovered her?!
Luo Xiaoqian was startled and in a panic, raised her hands to cover her mouth and nose.
Noticing a dress faintly visible through the leaves of the bushes, Leng Zimo stood up, confused, and walked step by step toward the edge of the bushes.
As his footsteps drew near, Luo Xiaoqian’s heart contracted with nervousness.
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