Wen Yi frowned, held her breath for a moment, and turned her head to look at the hand resting on her shoulder, "Can you lighten the touch?"
He followed her gaze, paused for a second, but still eased his grip the next moment. Then he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side, and stared deeply at her with dark eyes, his tone tired and helpless, "What exactly do you want?"
"Hasn't it always been clear what I want?"
The man seemed to stand even straighter, appearing taller and colder, "Do you want me to stop caring about her life and death from now on?"
Wen Yi didn't speak, but smiled and turned her face away.
Mo Shichen watched her cool profile, his tone unchanging as he asked again, "I can't even go see her now, or else it's mistake upon mistake, and you'll never forgive me again, right?"
The words "forgive me," seemed mockingly bitter, as if he pronounced them with a sneering taste.