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Zong Yue calmly asked, "Why? Have lice?"

Meng Fuyao laughed. "Yes, lice in my eyes — one in my left eye, one in my right. It makes me feel like a sinner, a third wheel to be stuck here. This Mongolian doctor, how about changing place with me?"

Without lifting his head, he took her pulse and said, "If you spew less nonsense, perhaps you can live longer." He added, "Open your mouth."

Meng Fuyao opened her mouth obediently. Zong Yue tossed a pill into her mouth. "Initially, wasn't going to come here. But I heard a certain someone had such a stroke of bad luck to draw that person. I could only make a trip here. Let me tell you, you better take care."

After he was done, Zong Yue left without hesitation. That pure white back view of his, those slow yet determined steps of his felt as though he was a snowflake fluttering down the horizon of a snowy scenery, cold and distant.