"Hey." Nan Yan's knuckled fingers got into the soft hair and rubbed it randomly. Looking at the drawing paper scattered on the ground by the sea breeze, he knelt down in annoyance and picked it up carefully.
A pair of little yellow boots suddenly appeared in his sight. Is he also the same person who lost track of time because of collecting folk songs? Nan Yan raised his head curiously and saw the young man in front of him slowly bending down, like an elegant gentleman inviting his partner tonight, picking up a piece of work in progress and gently stroking away the dust on the rice paper.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
