The rain in Jiangcheng always comes unexpectedly.
Wen Yu stood under the eaves of the convenience store, lowering his head and scrolling through his phone. On the screen was a message from his best friend Lin Xia: "Wen Yu! Guess who I saw at the airport? Fu Shiyan! He has returned to China!"
The fingertips trembled and the phone almost slipped.
Fu Shiyan.
This name was like a thorn in her heart for seven years.
There was the sound of footsteps behind me, and the moisture of the rain carried the cool scent of cedar. Wen Yu subconsciously stepped aside, but heard a deep voice: "I borrowed it."
She looked up sharply.
The man was wearing a black shirt, with the cuffs rolled up casually, revealing his cold white wrists. He lowered his eyes and glanced at her, as if she were just a stranger.
"Fu Shiyan..." Her throat was tight.
Without stopping, he opened the door and entered the convenience store. The wind chimes swaying on the glass door tinkled. Wen Yu clenched the corners of his soaked clothes tightly, and his nails almost dug into his palms.
