We are friends…
I like you the most...
You are like my sister...
This is how sadness accumulated bit by bit over the past ten years.
When Sikong Yang met Liu Wei,
Only then did she understand that love has multiple meanings, and only then did she understand that a sentence of love many years ago did not have the same meaning in the hearts of two people.
Therefore…
"I'm not desperate," Xiao Sikong thought, with tears still hanging on his pale face.
"Mom, do I have to cry my whole life?" Ten years later, Sikong Yang held a cigarette in his mouth and cursed, "Life is just a mess of cups and utensils."