In that startling moment, he reached out to gently caress her face, his thumb delicately tracing her eyebrows, her eyes, and her lips. He wanted to engrave every strand of her hair into his heart. Such tracing, with each stroke, was like drawing a blade across his chest—a pain, yet still, he wished this cutting, this pain, would never end...
But in the end, he had to let go.
He didn't know how his hand left her face, and at that moment, tears filled his eyes too. He dared not blink, didn't want to blink, afraid that with each tear that fell, he'd lose a second of seeing her face. It turned out, there really was a moment in life, where even a second was precious and hard to come by.
"Liu Zheng, I really, really want you to wash my face for me, wash my hair, shave my beard for me..." Before he could finish, tears had already started rolling down, carving a faint trail of his skin's true color on his dirty face.
He stood up, his legs trembling, everything around him spinning.
