When Xu Jiahe left the tattoo parlor, his footsteps felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.
The night wind was biting cold, making the cuts on his face ache faintly, but this pain was nothing compared to the churning turmoil in his heart.
Pei Cheng's words were like a sharp blade, ruthlessly dissecting his memories and shattering his long-held perceptions into dust.
Chapter 53