Under the dim light, Li Waner sat alone by the window, holding the yellowed letter in her hand. The handwriting on the letter has long been blurred, but every stroke and stroke seems to be engraved in her heart, making it impossible for her to forget.
Outside the window, there was a steady drizzle, just like her mood at the moment, lingering and complicated. Recalling that youthful past, her heart felt as if it had been wetted by drizzle, moist and heavy.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
