Love, don't love. Wen Qing had long disdained to indulge in love and hate.
Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's reluctance that makes me like a moth chasing the fire. I will rush towards you regardless of my own safety, and will not rest until my death.
After so long, Yue Jing couldn't tell whether she loved or sympathized with Wen Qing. Breaking free again and again, entangled with it again and again. Forget it, let her go if she can't escape.
Ye Lan has always been a bystander, looking at the uncertainty of the world with a cold eye, watching who sings and sings every night, and watching who cries in the dark. Anyway, as long as it has nothing to do with yourself, you can be free and happy. If I hadn't met her, this life wouldn't be perfect.
If, there is no if.