A Yin's mouth wilted, and she let out a crying sound. A Luo's expression panicked, and, gathering up her clothes, she was about to embrace her. She'd never before seen A Yin be so unrestrainedly wounded; the beautiful lady who radiated colour and light all around, at this moment, had smeared rouge, the back of her hands wiping at the corners of her eyes, not knowing which course to follow, and then she turned them over and used the heels of her palms to press against the sockets of her eyes, and then she finally stopped struggling, her nostrils fluttering and flaring, and she gazed at A Luo, wailing loudly. She cried as if she were a bullied child, her features muddled and confused and in a disorder. The scene before her eyes had actually come to the level of comedy; the rims of A Luo's eyes unconsciously burned, and she blinked moist eyelashes, softly asking her, "What are you crying about?" A Yin's nose was incredibly congested, and only after blowing it...