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Neither of them spoke. In the darkness, Zhao Yang felt that Yu Du's clear eyes were like the stars that night. I don't know who moved first, and then Yu Du stretched out his hand. He hugged Zhao Yang, breathed desperately between Zhao Yang's black hair, and finally calmed down: "Zhao Yang, if you like this kind of thing, it will come out of your eyes if you don't say it."
Who invented the human suffering of liking you? This person is the salvation of my life.
"As long as you belong to me, I can say the moon is black without conscience."