Chi Ao didn't know that the person in front of him, with a smile on his eyebrows and no warmth, was living in his heart unscrupulously. Neither love nor hate, the blood-like cinnabar mole, with an attitude of eternal damnation, was faintly aching in the vast night.
It was just the past of Qingcheng Xiao's youth, but whenever he recalled this past, there was too much unspeakable affection in it. They will be silent for a long time, sighing and putting away the lovesickness that rushes over the river and sea.
It would be great if, if, if we never met in this life. Mo Xunhua knew that he came too late, so late that even though he was always next to that person, he was just looking at the moon from afar, begging to be closer. I can only always be behind you, looking at the lonely and untouchable figure.
My mother said that life is just a dream.