Qiao Renliang would often think of that day later.
Loud gongs and drums, bright red wedding curtains. A smile bloomed on the face of the man in rich clothes. Like a blooming mandala, beautiful but hazy.
The red candle burned little by little, hanging down but not extinguished, like the eyes of a god. The candlelight flickered before my eyes, like fragments of time. Fuzzy yet bright.
There was only so much he could think of.
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