He has a warm smile on his young face, sharp eyebrows and starry eyes, white clothes as white as snow, thin lips raised gracefully, and a pair of bright and deep red phoenix eyes. He is as perfect as a banished immortal.
My heart moved slightly.
He walked slowly in front of me, squatted down slowly, looked at me with his warm eyes, and asked softly: "What's your name?"
My heart twitched, I avoided his questioning gaze, lowered my head, and whispered: "I don't have a name. I was separated from my parents when I was 4 years old. I am 8 years old this year."
"Oh?" He seemed a little disbelieving and asked, "Then how did you survive all these years?"
My nose felt sour and I shed tears, and I choked and said: "Aunt Mao found me and raised me. Three days ago, she passed away after cooking my last meal..."
He stroked my head lovingly, then raised my head, stared into my eyes, and asked, "Are you willing to stay with me?"
His gentle temperament infected me. I looked at him quietly for a while and said word by word: "I do."
He smiled, everything lost its color, and he hugged me, "Let's go."