The words are always old and the words are always new. The wood is dyed red in spring and the moon is dyed in the lapels.
In the morning and in the morning, in the wind and in the evening, in the rain, you miss the stars and I miss you.
"Sister An Tian, I like you." Twelve-year-old Lin Xichen said childishly.
"An Xia, can you be my girlfriend?" Twenty-four-year-old Lin Xichen's eyes sparkled again.
