Like a Spring Breeze Sweeping Ten Miles

I still like you, like a spring breeze traveling ten miles, with no thought of when it will return. Ten miles of spring breeze can't compare to you. You're the cinnabar mark between her brows, and the tender affection in her eyes. (I'm terrible at writing blurbs. Simply put, this is a collection of little stories.) Updates are irregular. I'll update whenever inspiration strikes.