But now, all his arrangements had become futile meddling. Not only had he failed to protect her, but when the truth hidden behind it all was revealed, the gap created by that concealment became even more devastating. He had not only hurt Rau Le Creuset, who had been created as a substitute, but had also left Jiliang and Mu battered and bruised.
If he had never forcefully interfered in their lives, never arrogantly kept them by his side in the guise of an all-knowing prophet, perhaps they would have found different paths. Was unerasable disaster the only thing he had brought them?
Just as Xia Ya's thoughts continued sinking into the mire of self-denial, warmth spread across the edge of his vision.
Jiliang suddenly leaned forward. Without warning, she reached out both hands and pressed her palms directly against Xia Ya's cheeks.
They were exceptionally soft, warm hands. The heels of her palms braced his jaw, while her fingertips rested against his temples, forcing traces of warmth into his cold skin.
Their gazes collided head-on.
The distance between them closed to its limit, their noses nearly touching. Xia Ya could clearly hear Jiliang's scorching breath rushing from her nostrils and brushing over his skin.
His worn, haggard face was reflected in those purple eyes, which had once been filled with sorrow.
Though she had suffered the sense of betrayal of being deceived by those closest and dearest to her, though only hours earlier Flay's cold, merciless words had severed every bond from her past, Jiliang's face was now so close to his—close enough that not the slightest barrier of resentment remained between them.
That closeness, which disregarded pain entirely, made Xia Ya's heart, long immersed in a higher-dimensional perspective, pound uncontrollably.
Jiliang kept both hands cupping Xia Ya's face as