Yang Qinglan lowered her head, and the vague mist between her eyebrows and eyes became heavier. She gently touched the ancient wall, as tenderly as kissing a lover, and asked lightly: "Do you believe in fate?"
Lin Yuan was a little startled for a moment, feeling that this person who was usually quiet and emotionless seemed to be alive in an instant. After looking at her for a long time, he felt that there was a touch of warmth in the corners of her eyes and eyebrows. After a long time, she recovered and answered -
"It turns out I didn't believe it."
"What now?"
"I don't believe it now."
Yang Qinglan smiled softly again, and the smile overlapped with the look from thousands of years ago, as if she had returned to the look she had when she was a girl for the first time.
She thought, how could she still remember things so clearly from thousands of years ago? Sure enough, the older she got, the more she could only rely on memories.
Then he burst into laughter, but Lin Yuan was embarrassed on the side. The wailing wall was surrounded by devout believers. The laughter was too abrupt among the sad cries.
"But I believe it."
Yang Qinglan said firmly, the fog between his eyebrows seemed to have cleared away, and he looked at Lin Yuan intently.