At this moment, Mùróng Zhuó seemed no longer the cold and aloof man he usually was, but rather an intimate companion willing to pour out his entire heart to me.
"Um... well... I—I was just asking casually," I stammered, a sudden flush spreading across my face. Right now, I must look just like a fully ripened autumn apple!
"When my mother was still alive, my father's hair was something only she was ever allowed to touch. Every night, as the candlelight flickered, my mother would sit before the bronze mirror, and my father would gently seat himself beside her. With a wooden comb in her hand, she would stroke his hair in slow, tender motions all the way from the crown, each movement filled with an endless love and attachment. That scene, like an eternal painting, was deeply etched into the furthest reaches of my memory."
Chapter 178