Qin Moxue never seemed to express her love for him. Never.
She was hot and cold, close and distant. Sometimes it felt like everything had reached a dead end, yet he would see her show him kindness. It happened over and over, like torture.
"Should we keep going?" she asked, her gaze icy.
Did he want to go on loving her this coldly? She was asking him. Maybe all he had to do was say yes, and they could go on like this: a loveless relationship with a woman who could no longer warm to him. As long as he didn't mind, it seemed she would never leave him.
