Mo Nanjue braced his hands against the basin counter, his gaze fixated on those two words.
Words are born from the heart.
The man narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer, his handsome face near the mirror, the misty steam making his exquisite features appear ethereal.
Mo Nanjue's thin lips moved slightly, those two words stubbornly stuck in his throat, and when they burst out, they shattered along with all the days of longing.
"Tong Ran..."
Who said that only longing is the pain that breathes? As long as there is deep love, even without breathing or longing, it still hurts.
Even more painful than longing.
The man bent down to turn on the faucet, scooping the icy water onto his face, causing a stimulating sensation. Mo Nanjue lifted his handsome face, gazing at the two words on the mirror.
His eyes were deep, fleeting memories flashed, and Mo Nanjue's exquisite lips curled into a shallow smile, a gentle expression in his eyes.
