He transmigrated into the body of the school heartthrob's spoiled ex-girlfriend, and he insiste

The night was as deep and still as a stagnant pool.

The apartment was radiating cold, even though the heating was on full blast.

Jiang Ci sat in front of the pile of "life and fortune" that had been returned for a long time.

It went on for so long that my legs went numb, and the blood from the cuts on my palms from the black card had dried.

He stood up mechanically, like a puppet whose soul had been drained.

He couldn't believe she had left so abruptly.

I don't believe she really only left money and not even a single word.

He began his search.

He wandered around every corner of the apartment like a madman.

study.

The drawer was pulled open, and the documents were scattered.

There was no letter. There was no note.

Only the fairy tale books he bought to make her happy were neatly stacked on the shelf, as if mocking his childishness.

kitchen.

The refrigerator door was opened.

The yogurt, fruit, and her favorite snacks are still inside.

There were no sticky notes.

At last.

He dragged his heavy steps up the stairs, one by one, to the second-floor loft.

That was their bedroom, and also her art studio.

This is the place in this apartment where Wen Ning's atmosphere is most pronounced.

Jiang Ci stood by the railing.

Her gaze swept over the empty bed and over the dressing table where her skincare products used to be kept.

Everything was tidied up perfectly.

It was so clean it was despair-inducing.

At last.

His gaze was fixed on the corner in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

There was an easel there.

That was Wen Ning's favorite place to stay. She said the sunshine there was the best, and it could warm you up nicely.

now.

A painting is mounted on the easel.

It wasn't open as usual, but covered with a white dust cover.

Standing alone in the moonlight.

It was like a silent wait, or perhaps a kind of memorial service.

Jiang Ci's heart clenched suddenly.

He walked over.

With each step, the floor beneath one's feet made a slight sound.

When he stood in front of the easel, his heel accidentally stepped on a slightly loose piece of floorboard.

"Crunch—"

A soft sound.

Right at his feet.

But he didn't know.

At that moment, all he could see was the easel covered by a white cloth.

Jiang Ci reached out his hand.

His fingers trembled as he gripped a corner of the dust cloth.

"Splash—"

The white cloth was lifted and slipped to the ground.

The painting was displayed before his eyes.

Jiang Ci's breath caught in his throat.

That's neither scenery nor still life.

It was an oil painting titled "Reliance".

A deep blue rainy night backdrop, bathed in the warm, dim glow of streetlights.

In the center of the image is the back view of a man.

He was wearing a black suit, his back broad and slightly hunched.

On his back was a girl dressed in a dress and barefoot.

The girl's face was buried in the crook of his neck, with only a pair of affectionate arms wrapped around his neck.

That was the night of the ball.

That was the moment he carried her, whose feet ached, as they walked step by step out of the corridor.

The brushstrokes are incredibly delicate.

Even the overlapping shadows of the two people under the streetlights were painted so tenderly and so affectionately.

The entire painting was bathed in a soft light.

That's how he was in her eyes—a reliance, a salvation, a light.

"Oh……"

Jiang Ci looked at the painting, and her eyes instantly turned red.

Since you think I'm childish.

Since you're saying I'm just playing house.

Why did you draw me so well?

Why draw this?

The love in this painting is so intense it's almost overflowing.

This was completely different from her cold and disdainful demeanor in the banquet hall.

Which one is the real one?

He stretched out his hand.

My fingertips want to touch the back of the person in the painting.

But when I touched the edge of the frame, I felt the roughness of the back of the canvas.

A strong intuition struck him.

Or perhaps it's some kind of ominous premonition.

Jiang Ci suddenly grabbed the picture frame.

Turn it over.

back.

On a rough canvas.

It has no color.

There were only three large characters written in black marker, their force penetrating the paper.

The handwriting was somewhat messy, and you could even see the tremor in the handwriting.

The ink spread out, like streaks of black tears.

【sorry】

Three words.

It was like a heavy hammer blow, striking Jiang Ci's already shattered heart mercilessly.

"Bang--!"

It sounded as if something had exploded completely.

Jiang Ci stared intently at those three words.

The pupils trembled violently.

sorry?

Why should I say sorry?

If it's just vanity, if it's just playing with feelings, then just leave and that's it. Why apologize?

How much helplessness is hidden in those three words? How many untold secrets does he not realize?

Is he apologizing for the humiliation he suffered tonight?

Or is he apologizing for leaving?

"Wen Ning..."

"What... have you been hiding from me...?"

I was overwhelmed with grief, anger, and confusion, as well as the exhaustion accumulated from days of intense work and the shock of tonight's extreme joy and sorrow.

In that instant.

Like a volcanic eruption, it completely backfired.

He felt a fire burning in his chest, making his internal organs ache.

Immediately afterwards, an uncontrollable sweet and fishy taste surged into my throat.

"puff--"

A mouthful of blood spurted out without warning.

It splashed onto the edge of the canvas.

The words "I'm sorry" were stained red.

It also stained the dust cloth on the floor red.

He was so angry that he lost his temper.

Qi and blood flow in reverse.

Jiang Ci felt the world before her eyes begin to spin, and all the light was rapidly being drawn away.

Darkness engulfed him like a tidal wave.

His hand loosened.

The picture frame fell to the ground with a loud crash.

Followed by.

That once arrogant and proud man, who was like a chosen one of heaven.

In this empty attic.

It fell straight backward.

"Thump."

He fell heavily onto the carpet.

The last second before consciousness fades.

His hand was still unconsciously reaching towards the picture frame.

My fingertips brushed against the crack in the floor beneath his feet, and against the silent Monstera deliciosa plant.

But in the end, it drooped helplessly.

missed.

In the end, we missed our chance.

The "I'm sorry" on that painting became an unresolved knot in his heart.

Waiting for the boy who has already died to return from hell.

"Wen Ning..."

"You're so cruel..."

He closed his eyes in the darkness.

A tear, mixed with blood from the corner of her mouth, slid down to the floor.