Qingran listened in silence, her chopsticks idly tapping against the rim of her bowl.
Feng Yizhou rarely spoke about his past, and when he did, it was never with much detail. Hearing him now, so matter-of-fact, she realized something—he wasn't looking for sympathy. He wasn't even angry about it anymore. He had accepted it, molded himself into who he was, and moved forward.
Unlike her, who still felt like she was grasping at shadows.
"I see," she muttered, setting her chopsticks down. "Then… do you ever regret leaving them behind?"
Yizhou tilted his head slightly, observing her. "Not for a second."
She inhaled slowly.
So firm. So decisive.
He had walked away from a family that suffocated him without looking back, while she… she couldn't even piece together what hers had been like.
Her fingers curled slightly. "You're lucky, you know?"
He raised a brow. "You think so?"