Yet Yin Zhan actually burst into her palace.
He risked being discovered and losing his head, disregarding everything. Just like the first time they met, when he bravely protected a stranger he encountered by chance, even willing to be injured, he stormed into her bedchamber, into her drought-stricken heart.
Yin Zhan knew all her dissatisfaction, her pain, her anger. With a dominant and turbulent gesture, he soothed her years of wounds and emptiness. Once emotions erupted, they were uncontrollable, like a dying spark suddenly fed with kindling, burning fiercely and overwhelmingly into an almighty blaze.
Neither of them could stop the fire from growing larger, even though they knew the end would be beyond redemption, like walking a tightrope, sinking into danger, yet neither wished to call a halt. It was as if dying this way would be worthwhile.
