After everyone left, Chen Zhiyong opened the wooden box again. This time, what the fragments reflected was not his reflection, but the panoramic view of Su Yuan's old house. Countless light spots hovered over the house, like souls flying freely. And at the highest attic window of the house, a figure in gray stood quietly, seeming to be looking into the distance.
Chen Zhiyong closed the box fiercely, but it was too late - from the corner of the office, the fragrance of daffodils wafted again.
