With a piece of paper, a Danhu girl pretended to be her dead daughter and married the seriously injured Dingbei Marquis. He won't survive until March. If she survives until that day, she can get a good job and leave.
On the wedding night, he lifted his hijab.
"Your steps are wrong."
She refused to admit it.
He was not in a hurry, picking out a flaw in her every day and watching her make up new lies to cover it up. Slowly, the distance between the two became closer and closer, and he thought she was also real.
Until that day, she packed her luggage, left the wooden hairpin in the dowry, and left without saying a word. Wei Yan, who came back from an outing, looked at the empty room and felt like a joke, "I thought you really wanted to grow old with me, but I didn't expect you did it for yourself." His voice was very soft, colder than the wind in the north.
He had been carrying him in the north for ten years without ever having a red eye, but now his eyes were red, "Yin Taohua, you are doing well. No matter where you hide, I will catch you back."
