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In the past twenty years, there seems to be nothing special about it, only persistence. When I was a child, the little boy next door snatched my toy and chased him for five hours. I chased him until he begged for mercy before I patted my butt and went home with satisfaction. When I grew up, I fell in love with someone and gave him the best of my heart and soul. I changed my life to suit him, but I ended up with scars all over my body. Sometimes, I blame myself for being too persistent. Why should people be so devoted? Novel exchange group 348036258