And the next second—
"Cough—!"
Lin Guang coughed out a mouthful of blood.
He leaned backward, his feet already on the edge of the rooftop, like a piece of fluttering white paper.
The snowstorm grew fiercer, with almost zero visibility beyond five meters. Su Ming'an took half a step forward, seeing the look in Lin Guang's eyes as he stared intently at him—that look was like a wounded beast, like a silent tombstone, like a swamp soaked and rotting in the rain, filled with slimy, turbid, icy mire that no ugly words could adequately describe.
Su Ming'an had seen such a fearsome, curse-like gaze before in Mizushima Haru's eyes on that rainy day.
—Lin Guang seemed to be cursing him with his life and soul.
There was no light in Lin Guang's eyes.
He had always found it hard to comprehend positive emotions.
