The rooster crowed at dawn; in the winter morning, the gurgle was hoarse, as if wailing, and each call was more mournful than the last; A Yin had packed up quite a bit ago, and was sitting at the furnace, playing mahjong with Tu Laoyao. Song Shijiu had always been diligent in the past, but today, she dallied, and no one saw a trace of her presence; Li Shiyi, at the table, braced her temple and had tea, the corners of her eyes sweeping in the direction of the securely closed door, then sweeping again; then, without making a sound, she drew her gaze back, her ring finger idly pressing against the space between her brows. A Yin, seeing this expression of hers, held back laughter cutting a gaze at the faintly discernible bruises beneath her eyes, and tossed her tiles at Li Shiyi, saying with a smile that wasn't a smile, “Who could have imagined?” “En?” Li Shiyi tossed the syllable at her. A Yin let out a sorrowful sigh, and said, “Who could have imagined you’d stick to this path.” With...