In the twelfth lunar month of winter, with heavy snowfall, the whole world seems to be covered by a white curtain. In the cold clarity, time is frozen in the mirror of ice crystals, refracting the blue light, and weaving into a long scroll of sparse glass of the years. When the wind suddenly rises, all the cold souls return to their hometowns like broken jade, and the world wrapped in silver seems to unfold a long silent scroll of ink.
"Ah~1945~" Song Shi rolled around on the bed boredly and propped up his chin with his hands. He stared at the ceiling blankly: "It's so boring!"
"Oh." The cold electronic sound of 1945 sounded in the head of the white-haired young man.
Song Shiyu stood up, stretched, and said to 1945, "You weren't like this before, what's wrong with you now? 1945, You used to care and comfort me, but now you only answered one sentence, no, one word!"
The white-haired young man walked to the window and slowly pushed it open. The wind carried the snow particles and blew gently on Song Shiyu's face, and a hazy mist appeared on the glass next to him.
1945'S speechless retort: "Ha, you made me laugh. Then why do you talk about me instead of you? Who's a host like you? You lie in the church bored every day and don't have a good relationship with the villain. I've never seen such a loser like you."
Intention: Go home