The asphalt on the silver bed is old, and the powder on the bed is dormant in autumn. When picking incense, I frowned at the line. Why can't I express my regret when I find a green leaf?
The corridor is full of lovesickness, and I fall into a lonely state. The backlight and the moon are in the shadow of the flowers. It has been ten years of traces and ten years of heart.
——Nalan Rongruo's "Poppy"
It took Yin Weimao ten years to see a person clearly, ten years to think of a person, and ten years to return to Gongsun Weimao.
This story was written a long time ago, and one draft was lost due to a hard drive. Suddenly I didn't want it to just be hidden on the hard drive, so I just posted it.
Looking back now, the setting is very Mary Sue, but it is always my own child.
It's a short story, and the real male protagonist doesn't appear until halfway through.
Conception: