Xue Xingyao had lost her child, and on top of that, her family had suffered a devastating catastrophe. Her postpartum recovery went poorly. By the time Chen Shujing returned home, she was so thin she was almost unrecognizable.
Her once-round face had become gaunt, her body as thin as a sheet of paper.
Her eyes, usually so vibrant, were now utterly dim, devoid of any light.
She looked utterly haggard; it was clear she had suffered a terrible blow.
Xue Xingyao stood just inside the doorway, leaning on the carved wooden door. The cold wind rustled around her, and she looked as if a single gust could blow her away.
Chen Shujing was accustomed to Xue Xingyao's bright, lively nature. Seeing her so cold and desolate now felt deeply unsettling.
He suddenly hesitated to step forward, instinctively slowing his pace.
Xue Xingyao didn't step out to greet him. She waited patiently for Chen Shujing to approach.
