In the hazy night, Luo Xiu stood by the dimly lit lakeshore, quietly staring at the exquisite and cozy pavilion in the lake, a building filled with the faint scent of books and an air of refined elegance.
On the long corridor, the short, portly middle-aged man wrapped his arms around Miss Lin's slender waist. He suddenly leaned in to steal a kiss on her cheek, provoking a coquettish cry from Miss Lin as she playfully slapped him with her delicate hands.
The middle-aged man roared with laughter, then swept Miss Lin up into his arms and strode into the pavilion.
Witnessing this from the lakeshore, Luo Xiu felt as if needles were pricking his heart, the pain nearly suffocating him.
But the trembling fists he had clenched so tightly slowly loosened.
Just as his heart was slowly letting go.
He could feel that Miss Lin had not the slightest resistance toward the middle-aged man. It wasn't an act; every smile and frown came from the heart.
