It was raining continuously and the night was as dark as ink. In the most remote back alleys of Daxia Capital, only the occasional flash of patrol torches could tear through this sticky darkness.
Su Zhaoyue wrapped herself in an old coarse cloth and hid her figure behind a pile of rotten wooden boxes.
The rainwater fell down the eaves, splashing mud with a fishy smell.
She could feel the cold rain soaking through her clothes and sticking to her skin, but what was even colder was the dull pain in her heart that had been suppressed for a long time.
"Miss." A hoarse voice came from behind, with undisguised fatigue.
Su Zhaoyue turned around suddenly. The old cripple's weather-beaten face was blurred in the rain. Only his cloudy eyes still carried the warmth and worry of an old man in the Su family.
