A heart-wrenching feeling, a memory that forgets oneself. In the depths of time, who will remember that he was here? With a pot of moonlight and elegant wine, and a suit of hunting clothes, in the shallows of time, who would remember that he had parked there? Mingruo, Mingruo, lightly pursed her lips, curled the tip of her tongue, and her vocal cords trembled to play the most beautiful music in the world. How long was that an obsession that he could not forget? He doesn't love her more than anyone else. His love never needs to be told to the world, nor does he give more than anyone else. In the world of love, it's never about hard work and gain. I have only loved, hated, and experienced joy, anger, sorrow, and joy. Why should I be obsessed with a result?