His memories seemed to return to New Year's Eve ten years ago. That night, Wushuang had said under the brilliant fireworks, "I like you." Her eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky, as if radiating countless starlights, beautiful and dazzling, compelling and intense.
Memories and reality seemed to overlap.
So beautiful, like a rose blooming in the morning dew, like the brightest pearl, such grace belonged uniquely to his Wushuang.
Ten years!
Wushuang had given him her youth for ten years. Ten years ago, she had confessed her feelings, and he had flatly refused. Ten years later, she confessed again—could he reject her? Did he want to reject her? How many decades could Wushuang afford to waste?
And he, what could he possibly give her?
In these ten years, how much heartache had he caused her? She was so strong, seemingly invincible, yet he had wounded her so deeply. Stubbornly waiting, she had waited for ten years, and now she said she still liked him?
