Snow.
Hazy like smoke, misty like clouds.
When the snow rises, it condenses into sorrow.
Ruoxue's past.
But there is no going back.
He is no longer the same boy I knew four years ago.
Because, before we met, he was Meng Qi.
And after we met, he was my brother.
Other works by the author:
"Dream Jiangdong"
Intention: