My name is Quinlan.
When I was six years old, on the corridor home from kindergarten, I met the woman who had caused me so much trouble in my life. Song Yumian, this idiot who was born a rotten girl and acquired an idiot.
When we met for the first time, she was not holding a cute doll in her hands, nor was she wearing a pink tutu, nor was she wearing a cheerful braid. Instead, she had short ear-length hair and held a cucumber with a flower on the top. She leaned against the railing, raised the corners of her lips towards me, and watched me walk into the house. That look in her eyes made me break out in a cold sweat.