At the celebration banquet, Song Wen smiled in front of everyone and said, "Wen Ran? Either her girlfriend or a painter."
Wen Ran put the pen that had been engraved for ten years on the table. It's not throwing, it's letting go.
"Mr. Song, that's it."
He turned around and dialed a number he hadn't contacted in ten years.
On the other end of the phone, Shen Ji, the founder of Yanguang Games, put down the hot cocoa in his hand——
He has been watching her since the first year of high school. Second window seat at the coffee shop every Friday afternoon.
He was not waiting for today. It's ten years.
Later, Song Wen knelt in front of her, his tie crooked.
She said: "Stop kneeling. That man - he is there every morning at 7:15."
