The winter of the fourth year of the Republic of China was the day she returned to China.
"Don't come to Chunban... It's so touching that it breaks your heart..."
"The falling plum blossoms are like a mess of snow... It's still full after being brushed all over..."
On the way, the word "Qing Ping Le" came out of the car window, which seemed to suit the occasion. It was really cold in Shanghai when it was snowing.
The two of them were sitting in the same car, but they had a tacit understanding and didn't speak again.
Lin Qingrong's eyes drifted to him from time to time.
Gu Yanzhen, on the other hand, held his hands the whole time and looked at the snowy scene outside the window.
Is it because the snow is so fresh today, or is it because I can't keep my eyes off her?
If this is a dream, never wake up...
In fact, we are all right, it is the world that makes us wrong.
