Pello was well aware that Shang Yin’s approach was the correct one, to kill to silence, it was the most proper course of action at this ti.
"After experiencing the death of Hang Yishao, she would be in a daze for a while," Pello murmured, trying hard to make excuses for Su Ziceng.
Dawn was breaking, the surrounding objects were becoming distinctly visible, Shang Yin glanced over from beside Pello, saw Su Ziceng’s clothes ripped open and Hang Yishao’s posture. This lad, even as a ghost he wanted to be a flirtatious one.
No wonder he was taken out by Pello, if it had been him, Hang Yishao would probably have been beaten into a hornet’s nest by now.
"Not killing is fine too, leave the aftermath to you," Shang Yin chuckled twice, his gaze drifting back over Su Ziceng’s exposed body.
"Don’t look at what you shouldn’t see," Pello said harshly, bumping Shang Yin away with his shoulder, "Go ahead and start the car, clean up the scene, we’ll call the police after we get down the mountain."
Shang Yin heard the displeasure in his tone, spread out his hands, and walked away.
Pello walked over to Su Ziceng, looking at her pale face, and the nurous small abrasions caused by being scraped, then he viciously kicked Hang Yishao once more.
It was still very cold on the mountain, after tidying up Su Ziceng’s clothes, he stripped Hang Yishao’s bloody clothes and dressed Su Ziceng in them, then he turned and left.
Two people, one alive, one dead, still lay there silently, waiting for the ambulance that would co roaring in a few hours’ ti.
Pello did not notice that after more than half an hour, Hang Yishao’s blood was still flowing. His jaw was resting against the side of Su Ziceng’s neck; Su Ziceng, who was wearing two necklaces, was still unconscious, yet tears kept flowing from the corners of her eyes.
In her subconscious, Su Ziceng couldn’t accept Hang Yishao’s death, so she had passed out entirely under no particular circumstances.
Hang Yishao’s blood spread, covering Yellow Love, and then, surrounded Red Love.
In the darkness, the intense pain from the gunshot continued. Hang Yishao felt his body light and airy, and when he opened his eyes, everything around him was a mix of red and yellow.
He tried walking a few steps, then tried calling out Su Ziceng’s na.
There was a sound of weeping in his ears, deep and low, the sound of a woman crying. Hang Yishao, listening to the crying, found it eerily familiar, as though it was the sobbing he had heard countless tis in his midnight dreams.
Red and yellow hues transford into a series of images, as if a tiny film was slowly playing.
First appeared a little girl wearing a princess dress, her chubby face making her cries especially aggravating. Then a thickly made-up young girl, ceaselessly following behind him. Next ca a middle-aged woman with a contorted face, unrecognizable to Hang Yishao.
Different images, different faces, pieced together.
"Ziceng," Hang Yishao wanted to touch those images, but as soon as his hand made contact, they all shattered, like sand, flowing down.
Then ca one image after another of won with Hang Yishao, and with each image’s appearance, Su Ziceng watched in despair from the side, her tears blurring her face.
"Yishao, do you know? I went through so much pain to co back," the low weeping resounded again in his ears.
At the mont the woman with the twisted face severed her artery, Hang Yishao let out a scream, he recognized that woman, she was Su Ziceng.
As the woman’s blood sprayed out from her body, her eyes were desperate. When the red peeled away, yellow surged up again—everything, in the end, converged into another face, that of Su Ziceng under the starry sky, pale as death.
It turned out, his love had lost its vitality years ago.
It turned out, his Ziceng, after enduring imnse pain, still turned back to find him, it’s just that all of it had been destroyed by his own hands.
If letting go could turn Su Ziceng’s tears into smiles, then he could choose to let go. But after letting go, where would his heart belong?
Tears fell from the corners of Hang Yishao’s eyes; he had wanted to give her happiness, why was it him who made her suffer the most? In the end, happiness still passed him by.
The blood no longer flowed, the heart that had stopped beating, started beating once again. (To be continued. If you like this work, you are welco to Qidian (qidian) to cast recomndation tickets and monthly tickets, your support is my greatest motivation.)
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