Within the depths of his consciousness, Song Zhuyu found himself standing in a boundless expanse where nothing existed but pristine whiteness. A figure stood a short distance away from him, their features unclear as though obscured by a shroud of mist, yet somehow he felt a sense of familiarity to them which indicated that they had known each other for quite some time.
"Why?" They parted their lips to ask, their voice soft, quiet, yet laden with a hint of sorrow, as if they had exhausted every ounce of their strength – or perhaps patience, in this case. "Why must you do this? You could have continued to watch like you always did, so why…?"
Song Zhuyu felt like a puppet trapped in his own body, a spectator who could only witness everything from the sidelines. Let alone move or speak, he couldn't even blink. Yet for some inexplicable reason, he knew what he was going to say as soon as his lips moved.