Chen Yang's figure disappeared at the end of the bamboo path, while Zhao Yanran stood there, staring blankly in the direction he had left.

A gentle breeze blew, rustling her aquamarine skirt and the bamboo leaves, but it couldn't dispel the melancholy in her heart.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a long shadow over her.

After a long while, she sighed softly and turned back to the small building.