Han Qiaoqi stood still, looking at Chen Youming's back, feeling a sudden pang of pain in her heart.
In her memory, Chen Youming was always clean and fresh, with his white shirt collar neatly buttoned, hair tidily combed, and even when wearing the Agricultural Institute's work clothes in the orchard, his sleeves were properly rolled up, always with a gentle smile between his brows. But the person before her had his hair messily stuck to his forehead, his washed-out work clothes stained with dirt and fruit marks, a thick layer of stubble sprouting on his chin, and faint dark circles under his eyes, looking droopy and lifeless, like frost-bitten crops, devoid of any former spirit and vigor.
He just stood there in front of a mango tree, clutching a crumpled notebook, moving his pen slowly across the paper, occasionally stopping to rub his aching eyes, his gaze dazed.
Han Qiaoqi walked over gently, her steps light like a breeze, stopping beside him.
