Among them, there was a special painting in the studio.
An unfinished work.
The woman's figure wasn't completed, yet the paper clearly showed countless mottled spots.
They must be traces of tears.
Ming Yao could also imagine that in some deep night, unable to bear the loss of the woman, he tried to paint a picture of her, but the more he painted, the more his heart ached, resulting in tears falling like rain.
So, this became his taboo, didn't it?
Ming Yao felt a tightness in her chest, and her delicate eyebrows knitted tightly together.
She felt like she was masochistically seeking out pain!
Curiosity killed the cat!
She was hurting herself!
Her heart started to feel congested again!
She couldn't calm herself down to be even-tempered anymore.
She cared!
Damn it, she cared!
Ming Yao didn't know how she managed to leave; her legs were weak as she descended the stairs.
Throwing herself onto the bed, she clenched her small hands into fists and pounded the pillow hard.