At night, Wei Ting returned travel-worn.
Su Xiaoxiao never asked what he was doing outside.
Today was different. He emitted a strong smell of blood.
"Are you injured?" Su Xiaoxiao asked.
"No, it's not my blood," Wei Ting said.
He must have killed someone then.
Su Xiaoxiao continued to pick out the light and do needlework. The three little fellows were sleeping soundly on the bed.
Wei Ting seemed to have returned to a time many years ago.
His father had returned from the military camp, and his mother was mending their clothes in the room…
But now, his father and brother had died in battle, and his mother had moved into the temple hall.
"It's altered. Try it."
Su Xiaoxiao bit off the thread, put the embroidery needle away and stood up with the clothes.
Wei Ting paused. "For… me?"
