Even if she turned to ashes, he could recognize the person in the photo as Xiao Qiao. She was Xiao Qiao, without a doubt; he hadn't mistaken her. Wesley's breath deepened, and his slender fingers gently stroked the screen as if touching the real her, the gentle, slightly tough Xiao Qiao. Wesley's ice-blue eyes, color deepened, gazed at the photo with a yearning and profound look.
His wife!
This was by the Blue Lake in Iceland, the café he had once visited, the place he had once made.
He smiled bitterly; it was indeed his illusion. He missed Xiao Qiao too much; it had become schizophrenia. He had just returned from Iceland and fantasized about Xiao Qiao appearing there. If this wasn't schizophrenia, then what was it? He spent over ten days in Iceland, yearning every single day for Xiao Qiao to appear, yearning every day for her to be by his side, living vibrantly and brightly.
He refused to bow to reality.
He refused!
