That night, Qingyu had a dream.
In the dream, there was heavy snowfall, and a little Taoist boy stood under the cedar.
Opposite there was a little helpless little girl holding a vermilion candied haws with a picturesque look on her face.
"Sorry, I thought it was a pile of snow."
"I'm not Xue." The little Taoist boy slowly walked up to her, his voice clear and childish: "My name is Qingyu, I like you."
"Also, Taoist priests can probably drink Henu wine."