The eighteenth year of the Republic of China, spring
This year, Xuan Xiao returned to Nanjing. As soon as he got off the train, he was hurriedly taken to Murong Mansion in a car.
In his impression, Nanjing has always been a very special city, a city that perfectly combines desertedness and liveliness. Rows of French plane trees covered up the dim light of the morning sun, and a few rays brushed his face, colorful and alienated.
The white-gray bricks and tiles of Murong Mansion are covered with a layer of ivy.
Murong Ziying stood on the attic holding a book, looking down, her eyes clear but a little tired.
Xuan Xiao, who had just entered through the gate of the mansion, happened to raise his head, and his eyes met unexpectedly. They were cold and without any warmth, and the harsh spring chill was also reflected in his eyes.
This was their first encounter, but it seemed like they had known each other for a long time.
Xuan Xiao was wearing a black trench coat. The decent tailoring made him tall and tall, and his temperament was cold and elegant. Even though he was no longer young, he was really a good-looking person.
Murong Ziying felt like she was looking at him in a dream, and then she woke up from the dream.
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I really feel uneasy about my conscience. Well, let's just treat this as a phased completion. . . Now I want the Lord to write another article. . . I hope it won't end badly, huh
Intention:
