Ten years ago, I was the flower of the high mountains that Xu Moyan could not get. He waited all night in the rain downstairs of the dormitory just to see me.
Now he is a new financial man, and I am kneeling at his feet wiping the red wine stain he deliberately spilled.
People around laughed and mocked: "The school beauty that Mr. Xu couldn't catch back then is now not even qualified for shoe polishing."
I raised my face and forced out a professional smile, but the bottle of painkillers hidden in my pocket suddenly rolled to the ground.
Xu Moyan bent down to pick up the medicine bottle, his expression suddenly changed: "Terminal cancer? When did it happen?"
Intention: The kneeling position is the throne of survival, death becomes the nirvana of dignity - the thorn bird sings its last song in the ruins of lies, and the moonlight is not eroded by red wine in the end.