He rushed toward Yixia Pavilion and flung open the door. It was empty, silent and deserted. Where could he possibly find even a trace of her? It felt as if all the blood had been drained from his body. Weak and helpless, he crumpled to the floor. Though his chest was full of a thousand words, he could not force a single one past his throat.
“Fu Xiaying, you’re so cruel!” His gaze blurred as he looked toward the window, where white curtains whipped wildly in the wind. His voice trembled, as if he had used up every last ounce of strength. “It was all part of your plan! You knew this day would come, didn’t you?!”
In the haze, he seemed to see a familiar, graceful figure turn from the window. She gazed at him in his sorry state and smiled faintly. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Chongyan.”
Her voice, still as light and clear as ever, drifted through the air. She looked at him, her tone casual, her ink-black hair flying freely in the gale. Her eyes were clearer and brighter than ever before. With pity, she watched his figure, already twisted with anguish, and gently parted her lips:
“C’est La Vie!”
A tale of a love built on scheming and intrigue between a brilliant woman and a wicked, arrogant man.
Who, in the end, is more cold-blooded and heartless than the other?
