Qingmu and Zhang Huai were taken aback. They couldn't figure out why she was crying—they hadn't even laid a finger on her.
A man nearby picked up the conversation and said with a smile, "I saw that young lady. Looked like something was weighing on her heart. She came galloping up like a gust of wind, found a boat, and hopped right on, not paying any mind to anything else."
Zhang Huai narrowed his long eyes, gazing at the few scattered boats on the Qinghui River. The afternoon sun, low in the western sky, shimmered on the water, its reflection torn into a thousand pieces by the ripples. As he listened to the men's casual chatter, an emptiness grew in his heart. He felt Juhua's despair and anxiety more keenly than ever, as if he himself had lost something precious.
