Han Jing didn't rush him, and after a long while, when Han Jing thought he wouldn't raise his head, he finally lifted it and looked at Han Jing, but it was a long time before he uttered a sound: "Who are you?"
He was still immersed in the moment when Zhu'er suddenly had an attack and fell in front of him, losing her breath. It happened too quickly, so fast that he had no time to react; everything just transpired like that.
She died.
His Zhu'er died.
He always, even now, cannot believe this fact.
That beautiful, cute, and slightly righteous girl, his most cherished person, just died like that.
He was two years older than her; when he first saw her, she was only seven, and he was nine.
On the street, she was sitting in a luxurious carriage, pulling aside the curtain of the window, curiously and cautiously peeking outside, while he had just left the school, standing by the roadside with books in his arms, and his gaze unintentionally met hers.
