That year, a 22-year-old woman writer jumped from Yunzhou Bridge.
Jiang Xuling had often dreamed of escaping the mountains, but she still couldn't do anything. Even when she finally had everything, she was still abandoned. She was so gentle and kind, and could forgive so many wrongs, yet someone still hurt her.
In a dim room, a girl lay on her bed clutching her phone, tears welling at the corners of her eyes.
“My family and my work come first.”
Jiang Xuling stared at Qi Liang in disbelief as tears rolled down her cheeks, one after another.
“Then what am I?”
The person who once said he would save me said those words to me.
“Jiang Xuling, you've always been like this, only thinking about what I can give you. Fine. I'll mix alcohol with sleeping pills. From now on, we're done!”
He was the one who said he liked me first, yet somehow, in the end, I was the one who did wrong.
“What am I?”
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