When the young master disappeared in the middle of the night, he went to the sea to search for him.
Relatively speaking, he could endure the severe cold a bit better, much more so than Charles Harrington.
Charles Harrington struggled to his feet, shakily extending a hand: "Help me up, I can't get up."
Wayne Bailey gave him a cold look: "Then stay here!"
"If you leave me behind, how will you grow against the trend? Only I know..."
Wayne Bailey strode forward.
Charles Harrington's body was so cold it was covered in ice chips, and his hair had a thin layer of frost on it.
He truly couldn't get up, every movement brought pain, and he lay there with closed eyes, giving up on himself...
After all, it seemed there was no special reason to keep living; even the pursuit had faded away.
After Wayne Bailey walked for a while, Wilfred found a tree branch to use as a walking stick, stumbling along.
