In the middle of the night, the dark clouds in the sky became thicker and thicker, and the strong wind blew the fallen leaves flying everywhere, floating in the dark space, and occasionally falling on his handsome face and body.
The wind roared like an angry lion over and over again, blowing on the doors and windows of the house, making a harsh sound.
His plane could no longer fly and was blown away by the ruthless wind, drifting to an unknown destination.
The sky began to rain heavily.
His suit began to slowly get soaked, and the moisture slowly seeped through the clothes and penetrated his body, making him feel as cold as ice.
The rain gradually became heavier and heavier, like countless arrows, shooting down from the gloomy sky.
It hit him on the face, causing a dull pain.
Water droplets dripped down his hair, flowed over his handsome face, and fell straight down.
The wind is getting stronger and stronger, and the howling like ghosts and wolves is hovering over the empty villa area, which makes people feel terrified.
Lightning threatened to tear the sky apart, streaking across the roaring sky over and over again.
Cheng Haochen stood upright in the rain, motionless like a sculpture.
Yu Keqing was sleeping in bed, tossing and turning.
Lightning flashed through the window over and over again, illuminating the house as bright as day.
A night like this is so much like that night in America.
The same violent storm, the same lightning and thunder.
She knew that Cheng Haochen was still downstairs at this time.
She suddenly felt frightened and worried about him, afraid that something might happen to him in such a harsh environment.
He has been standing for three nights and must be exhausted now.
The wind is blowing violently and the rain is pouring down again. If this continues, even the Iron Man may not be able to endure it.
But by going out like this, doesn't it mean that she forgives him?
But, does she really believe him?
Is her worry about him out of concern for humanity or concern for her lover?
She didn't seem to know.
She got up from the bed and looked out the window. The figure in the night rain stung her heart with a dull pain.
Heartache, she knew clearly that she was heartbroken.
Doesn't she hate him? Why should she feel sorry for him?
Is it because I see him standing downstairs every night?
Is it because of watching him folding paper airplanes every night?
Or look at what he writes every night?
Or is it because she just cares about him?
She walked around the room anxiously, sometimes sitting on the bed, sometimes leaning against the window.