We met because we were looking for happiness, and we waited silently behind our backs. Wrong encounter, scarred, do you still have the courage to believe in the existence of happiness? Reappearing after amnesia, can the right man give her true happiness? When she recalled it, where should she go between the 'substitute' and 'him who was guarding the marquis'? Where is the happiness? ． ． ． ．
The wishing tree under the lilies, the happiness in every wish bottle.