It's Late to Cross the Spring Lane at Night
by Muziyuli
About This Novel
At the age of eighteen, at the entrance of the alley, he clutched the umbrella she gave him and watched her back being swallowed up by the rain and fog. Six years later, in the elevator, the designer, who was once as cold as ice, buried his face in her neck angrily: "Sister, don't leave me the umbrella alone this time." (The "Thank you" from Yuxiang that year and the unspoken "I'll wait for you" later)
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