"She hasn't come back?"
Gu Chen, who wasn't part of that circle, didn't know about the Mystic Sect, and naturally had no idea about Wen Jiaren's situation, "How long has she been gone?"
The security guard thought for a moment and said, "Quite a while, it should be about ten days now."
"I see."
A heaviness settled on Gu Chen's gentle face as he walked inside.
In the dead of night, the icy winter wind was sharp and cutting, sweeping up the fallen leaves on the ground. Under the dim light stood a man with a cigarette between his fingers, taking intermittent puffs, his head tilted up to gaze at a certain window. His silhouette spoke volumes of his solitude.
He stood there for a very long time, until his hands, feet, and face began to feel chillingly cold, and there was a pile of cigarette butts littering the ground.
