Mozhen put the wine on the stone table. The cold stone table was paired with the cold wine. He poured a glass and drank it in one gulp. The strong wine was so strong that he could barely open his eyes. Mozhen wanted to grab the glass but he dodged it. "Mozhen, just let me get drunk for once."
Mo Zhen exhaled as if he had made a big decision. "Wang, give up. She will never come back. She will never come back again."
He was shocked, "Is she dead?"
"No"
"Then why did you say she would never come back, Mo Zhen?" He was a little angry.
"Wang, please wake up," Mo Zhen said coldly, not afraid of his eyes at all.
"Sober, why am I sober? As soon as I wake up, I will think of her saying goodbye. She is a stranger. No matter how stranger she is, I don't even know where she is now. Mo Zhen, you are the only one who knows her. Why can't you tell me, I miss her so much, I love her so much." In this way, the king who was admired by thousands of people cried uncontrollably on a cold autumn night.
This article has a touch of dry humor.