Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved a boy deeply. Love his handsomeness, love his coldness, love everything about him. She always handed him love letters again and again, but the boy just accepted them without replying. On this day, the girl handed over the 101st love letter to the boy. The boy accepted it as before, with no moved expression on his face, only ice-like indifference. In the twilight scene of the mulberry tree, I already expected that after the ashes died, it would eventually cling to the dust. Ever since, I had settled my posthumous affairs early, and in the end, it seemed as if I had finally fulfilled a wish and felt relieved.
