Ever since I became literate, I have been poisoned by fairy tales, imagining that I am a princess who has been sleeping for a hundred years, just waiting for the destined prince to come forward, give me a gentle kiss, and dance a passionate tango with her. Now, at the age of 25, I am neither embarrassed nor embarrassed. I finally understand that princes live in the clouds, and I need to work hard and rise like a rocket, but at the moment when I reach the clouds, I have to use one second to create the image of a noble lady. I searched so hard, and searched again, as if my Mr. Right lived too high...