Under the sun, there is a tall and straight but slightly thin figure, with a face as handsome as cold snow, the corners of the mouth slightly raised, and eyes as deep as crystal shining, silently looking at the sycamore tree in the distance. His eyes were as hot as the summer afternoon sun that would melt the handsome face of ice and snow in it. His arms were half raised, and his clean and slender fingers stretched out towards the willow-like figure under the sycamore tree.
"Follow me," the man said. "You'll be safest by my side."
...
Entangled in a hundred years of love, that pure love is still getting hotter and firmer.