The three characters "Xing Qianli" on the envelope lying on the ground were written beautifully. Jiang Ling's handwriting was awful, but she had written Xing Qianli's name beautifully. It was the result of practicing it carefully thousands of times. Xing Qianli picked up the letter, clutched it to her chest, and went back to her room. She tripped over a stool, but did not get up. She just sat there in a daze, clutching the letter tightly against her chest, her gaze vacant, as if her soul had left her body. Xing Qianli gave a bitter smile, and before long, tears were streaming down her face. Jiang Ling, you deserved to die. You brought this on yourself. But why? Why does this hurt so much? I should be happy. Jiang Ling, why do you still torment me even after you're dead?
Theme: A piece of life advice: if there's a misunderstanding, make sure to clear it up.
