With these words, Liang Qiuchi left without looking back. Mo Xin stood in the cold wind on the rooftop for a long time, only then realizing the meaning of “don’t come looking for me.”

But he didn’t understand why Liang Qiuchi would leave him behind.

Wasn’t it better for them to leave together? Or did he have some concerns that led to this choice?

Mo Xin wanted to go find Liang Qiuchi and ask for an explanation, but as he ran downstairs, he was intercepted by a woman with her hair tied in a ponytail.

“If you want to put him in danger, then continue going downstairs,” the woman grabbed Mo Xin’s collar and slammed him against the wall, speaking in a low voice, “But I advise you to leave now while no one notices. Liang Qiuchi doesn’t want to see you again. Give up.”

Of course, Mo Xin couldn’t give up. It took him two years to finally see Liang Qiuchi, but he only had the time for one cigarette.

How could he be willing?

But he couldn’t let Liang Qiuchi be in danger.

He grabbed the woman’s wrist back, staring into her eyes and said, “Tell him to come to the rooftop to see me. I’ll wait for him to explain.”

“What if he doesn’t come?”

“Tell him that! I’ll wait for him.”

Mo Xin pushed her away and went straight back to the rooftop.

The wind seemed colder at night, but he stubbornly stayed there, unmoving.

Until it started raining, and Liang Qiuchi still didn’t show up.

Perhaps something was holding him back, Mo Xin comforted himself.

He stood in the rain, waiting. Liang Qiuchi had been so gentle and caring towards him, he would surely find a way to come up and find him if he knew it was raining outside.

But an hour passed, and the rooftop remained empty, with only him standing there alone.

Mo Xin thought again, perhaps the rain wasn’t heavy enough, or perhaps the woman didn’t convey his message to Liang Qiuchi, which was why he hadn’t appeared.

As the pouring rain drenched him, the fire in his heart grew weaker and weaker until he heard footsteps at the entrance to the rooftop. The fire burst into flames, but when he saw the person’s face, it extinguished abruptly.

“I thought Liang Qiuchi was stubborn, but I didn’t expect to meet someone even more stubborn,” Wu Yahui ran to Mo Xin in the rain, covering her head with a leather jacket, and dragged him into the hallway.

“He told me to tell you to go home quickly. We’re leaving.”

Wu Yahui threw the jacket to Mo Xin and hurriedly went downstairs.

A few minutes later, the engines of several off-road vehicles parked at the factory gate downstairs roared to life, splashing through the muddy ground, gradually disappearing into the curtain of rain.

The whole abandoned factory fell silent once again.

Mo Xin, drenched to the bone, searched through the entire factory layer by layer, confirming multiple times that Liang Qiuchi had indeed left.

Liang Qiuchi had left him behind in this ruin, there wasn’t even a reason given to him.

The faint hope that existed in his heart was completely shattered.

Mo Xin fell ill and his whole being seemed drained, as if his spirit had been sucked dry. The military, fearing any mishap, specially escorted him back to his family home in Danga for recuperation.

This illness was different from the gunshot wound two years ago. He spent his days lying in bed, either staring blankly at the ceiling or gazing out the window at the treetops.

He didn’t sneak out of this home again, not even wanting to step out of his bedroom. Even when Mo Qi came to see him, he was reluctant to talk, behaving like a numb vegetable.

“Are you planning to lie down like this forever?” Mo Qi circled the bed, “Do you know how eerie you look when you don’t move? The nurse told me sometimes she thought you had stopped breathing.”

He pulled a chair and sat by the bed, “Of course, she didn’t put it that bluntly, but clearly, your half-dead appearance scared her.”

Mo Xin simply pulled the covers over his head.

“Ah, you…” Mo Qi leaned over to uncover him, looking at Mo Xin’s indifferent expression, he smiled helplessly, “From childhood to now, you’ve been cold to everything. Mom and dad and I even discussed seriously whether to take you to see a psychologist. I never thought that one day you’d be so in love with someone.”

Mo Xin closed his eyes, unaffected by Mo Qi’s sentiments.

“Breakups are painful for a while, especially when it’s your first love,” Mo Qi leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs, “But let me give you some advice, someone like Liang Qiuchi, you can’t hold onto him. It’s better for both of you to break clean early.”

Mo Xin’s eyes opened a slit. “What kind of person is he?”

Mo Qi didn’t continue, “Anyway, what I mean is, you’re still young, there are many meaningful things in life waiting for you to do. Don’t hang yourself on the crooked tree of Liang Qiuchi.”

“Meaningful things like what?”

“Um,” Mo Qi said casually, “like world peace?”

Mo Xin tilted his head, giving him a sidelong glance.

Mo Qi chuckled, continuing to advise him, “Men should make achievements. When you succeed, you can have whatever you want. By then, you may not even care about Liang Qiuchi anymore.” He patted his hand, “Think about what I said.” With that, he got up and left.

Mo Xin stared at the ceiling for a long time, a firm determination gradually forming in his clear eyes.

He no longer wasted his time locking himself in his room. He resumed physical training, quickly recovering to the team’s standards, and then threw himself into the military.

Where there was conflict, he went; where there were dangerous missions, he volunteered.

He insisted on being at the forefront of the battle, carrying cannons, enduring gunfire, and even once sneaking alone into the enemy’s den, risking his life to blow up their weapons depot.

That mission nearly cost him his life, but it was also his outstanding performance during that operation that earned him a personal second-class merit, opening up an astonishing path of military promotion for him.

At first, everyone thought he was just lucky and daring, but later, when Mo Xin planned and executed several similar suicidal missions, everyone realized that this rising star of the military was a purely and crazily murderous machine.

“I know they call me ‘crazy’ behind my back, but I don’t care,” Mo Xin’s face half-hidden in the shadow, “I was indeed crazy those years. Do you know why I always charged at the front line of the battle?”

His tone was calm.

“Not for military merits, not even for world peace. It’s just that a thought has always been lingering in my mind: if I were to die like this, would you regret not saying a few more words to me that day?”

He stared at Liang Qiuchi, a twisted smile appearing on his face as he stepped into the sunlight, “Tell me the answer, Liang Qiuchi,” he said, “Would you regret it?”