Everyone is wondering, who can pick this proud rose? Those white and slender hands either had only lingering fragrance, or were pricked with thorns.
But only the stubborn and arrogant girl knew that she was just a rose made of silk. The moment it bloomed, she met those hands, those hands that had been pricked but calmly picked her off for another girl.
From now on, there is no longer the qualification to wither and turn into mud.
That year, when Jiang Ouxue was twelve years old, she met Jun Ke.
——This article only wishes Xuexue a happy 20th birthday.