Still the size of a five-year-old, Yanyan was still adorably heartbreaking, but her face carried traces of dirt and dust.
Her expression was one of lost desolation, tears hanging at the corners of her eyes; adorable cheeks marked by two tear-streaks that had washed away the mud, forming tiny ravine-like marks.
Her cheeks were as dirty as a little kitten's, but there was no father to wipe them clean, no mother to wash her face.
She could only wander alone in this nameless, dark, and lonely space, searching back and forth for her Father King.
…
This illusionary scene was brief, just a snippet, yet this snippet pierced Zhou Yan's heart mercilessly like a sword.
Frozen memories of pain shattered, an onslaught of painful emotions surged; Zhou Yan's body became violently restless as if it were about to explode.
He bit his lips hard, suppressing his emotions, not allowing himself to unleash his guilt towards his daughter Yanyan.
