She was a rose with thorns, born to be held in the palm of everyone’s hand and used to getting her way.
Until she met Fu Shenyuan.
The way that man looked at her was as if she were a child who didn’t know any better: patient, helpless, and touched with a depth she couldn’t read.
He called her “Niece Zhiwei,” cleaned up all her messes, and quietly smoothed everything over after she got into trouble, only to settle the score with her slowly once they were home.
She thought he was disciplining her. Only later did she understand that this was his way of showing her special affection.
Shen Zhiwei always thought she had used every trick in the book to make this iceberg fall for her.
Until many years later, when she found his diary from his youth.
On the yellowed pages, the boy had written carefully, stroke by stroke:
“Today at Uncle Shen’s house, I saw a little girl in a red dress. She smiled at me. I think my future wife should look just like her.”
That year, she was three, and he was twelve.
It turned out that every long-awaited reunion in this world had been planned long ago.
It turned out that you weren’t the one who tamed me. I was the one... who had waited for you for so many years.
