In this moment, a scene from three years ago suddenly appeared in Mu Jin Huan's mind without any warning.
At that time in An City, it was also a chilly winter, a snowy night, with exceptionally crisp air.
A figure in a red dress, eyes hazy with drunkenness, leaned softly against him, her face wet with tears, murmuring softly, "If... brother... wasn't brother... it would be nice..."
The warm breath sprayed onto his chest, the scent of alcohol filled his nostrils. On that snow-covered field, it was the first time he clearly heard the sound of his own heartbeat.
At that moment, it seemed like the entire world had come to a halt, even the snowflakes gently falling had stopped in mid-air.
The person in his arms had long fallen asleep, but those fragmented words kept repeating in his ears.
[If brother wasn't brother, it would be nice.]
Like a spell, echoing endlessly, never fading away.
...
