If the Outcome Is Doomed, Let Each Other Have an End

The day Gu Qingxia died was one month before Xiang Ming's eighteenth birthday. Every year thereafter, he received an anonymous gift—one a year for sixteen years. It wasn't until the class reunion that Wu Changhai drank too much and spilled the beans: "Those gifts... Were sent by her mother on her behalf." In front of the grave, there was a tape that recorded the words "I have wanted to say something to you for a long time" and then stopped abruptly. On the way home, there was a car accident. When I opened my eyes again, it was September 1, 1993, when I started reporting for school. Under the camphor tree, a girl with a ponytail raised her face and asked him: "Classmate, how to get to Class 3?" Xiang Ming's eyes turned red. In this life, thumbtacks can't hurt him, evil people can't get close to her, and that rainy night five years from now will never come again. "Gu Qingxia." "Huh?" "It's nothing." He smiled and blocked the crowd for her, "The sun is really nice today." ——This time, I will run to you first. She has been preparing a relic of one letter every year for sixteen years. A half-recorded tape is a life story that she did not dare to speak out. This time, it's me who speaks first.