Torrential rain lashed down, and when Shen Yanci extinguished his seventh cigarette, his knuckles were white with strain. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chen Jingyue's figure was cut into fragments by the neon lights. She clutched a yellowed letter, her fingertips repeatedly tracing the three characters "Gu Mingchuan".
"Yueyue, come here." He heard his own voice sounding like iron soaked in ice water, cold enough to smell of blood.
She raised her head in a panic, and the pages of the letter fluttered down with a rustle. For three years, this was the first time she had shown such an expression before him—like a deer driven to a desperate corner by a hunter, her eyes flickering entirely with the name of another man.
Chapter 55