Roses climb around the corner of the wall, basking in the sunlight. I wonder if the weathered walls of the old building still bear the handprints you and I left behind. I walk alone beneath the sun, soft light glimmering on the rose petals. A gentle breeze brushes my hair, and the little trees we knew as children have grown lush and green. This is a carefree stroke in the painting of our youthful years, light and airy, delicate and fine.
I move forward with reverence, surrounded all along the way by scenes with you.
Qi Beibei: Who wrote this stuff? Why so melodramatic?
Sun Xiaomiao: Huh? Nahu didn't write this. Nahu hasn't even appeared yet...
Qi Beibei: ... = =|||
