At the end of the covered bridge, it was misty and rainy.
Wei Chuxun leaned against the beauty, and the snow-white Persian cat in his arms yawned lazily and rubbed its head against his arms.
He was wearing a very loose blue robe, with a circle of snow-white fox fur around the collar, which made his face become even more pale, so white that it almost blended in with the water vapor in the sky.
He had been ill for a long time, or rather, for as long as he could remember.
A gust of moist wind blew by, and he couldn't help turning his head to the side and coughing violently. The coughing sound was very low, as if it was being suppressed by something, and it conveyed a sense of broken weakness.
He took out a piece of clean silk from his sleeve, covered his mouth, and then slowly took it away until the heartbreaking itching passed.
