“The fate I once believed in slowly ate away at my years. If I could live it all over again, perhaps I'd rather stay by his side, like those years when I chased after him beneath the locust tree. I've come all this way, only to say once more: my boy.”
I flipped through the diary Kang Qiao had left behind, at a loss for what to do. What was fate? I used to think fate was his eyes that wouldn't open, no matter how loudly I called, and all the people I tried so hard but failed to catch up with. Because of that, I sank deep into fate's whirlpool. Later, I realized that as I chased after fate, I had met so many people. I was such a fortunate person. When I turned around, I saw Liao Ziqing and Lin Yi grilling skewers, Meng Xueyan going over a script with Gu Yixuan, He Luofan reading in a lounge chair, and Su Yan, walking toward me with my clothes in his hands and a smile on his face. To me, fate had never been a destination. It was the road along the way.
