The cold touch made Duanmu Rong sober up. It turned out that my face was already full of tears without even realizing it. Duan Murong turned away and wiped away the remaining tears from the corners of her eyes. His face returned to its previous calmness. The phoenix chrysanthemum in her hand had already been wet, but it looked even more delicate and beautiful. Maybe everything that has been hurt will be heartbreakingly beautiful.
It was him, she remembered it clearly. And what about him? Ten years, maybe you have already forgotten it? That's fine. If you forget it, it won't hurt.
The wind would occasionally lift the feathers on his shoulders; the rain would flow along the broken hair on his forehead, wet his beautiful eyebrows, and then quietly slip through the corners of his eyes and scratch his cheeks. That proud face still captivated the world, with light purple hair half-covering her cold eyes. The pain was secretly hidden in his clear eyes, and he hoped she could see it.
Conception:
Reader comments
13 Years of writing, now 25 years. When I was a kid, I was a bit addicted to Baifeng, Duanmu Rong [dog head], and I never found a fan [covering my face and laughing], but I didn't expect that there was actually one.
13 Years of writing, now 25 years. When I was a kid, I was a bit addicted to Baifeng, Duanmu Rong [dog head], and I never found a fan [covering my face and laughing], but I didn't expect that there was actually one.