The embroidered shoes slept soundly, ignoring Yang Fan's incessant calls.
It lay quietly there, its once vibrant red shoe surface and the peonies that seemed to come alive now appeared dull, like a pair of shoes buried underground for who knows how many years.
To save Yang Fan's little life, this time it nearly sacrificed its own already incomplete life.
"Rest well, I know you'll be alright," Yang Fan muttered to himself, sitting cross-legged in meditation beside them.
He looked at Zhou Yingnan, and when their eyes met, Zhou Yingnan seemed to know what Yang Fan wanted to say and smiled, "You go about your business. I have nothing else to do, so I'll just help the shoes by burning some incense."
Yang Fan nodded, his eyelids drooped slightly, and his mind gradually sank down.
But before completing a circulation, he was jolted out of his meditative state by his vibrating phone.
It was Mr. Fan calling.
