His memory seemed to return to New Year's Eve ten years ago. That night, Wushuang was just like that, under the dazzling fireworks, saying "I love you." Her eyes were as bright as the stars in the sky, as if countless stars were shining, beautiful, dazzling, and captivating.
Memory and reality seemed to overlap.
So beautiful, like a rose blooming in the morning dew, like the most brilliant pearl. This Wushuang, so radiant, belonged only to him.
Ten years!
Wushuang had given him ten years of her youth. Ten years ago, she said she liked him, and he flatly refused. Ten years later, she said she liked him again. Could he refuse? Did he want to refuse? How many decades had Wushuang wasted?
And what could he give her in return?
In these ten years, how much heartache had he inflicted on her? She was so strong, invincible, yet he had wounded her deeply, stubbornly waiting, waiting for ten years. And now she actually said she still liked him?
