It was English too.
But because the stationery in the room hadn't been used for years, the ink was somewhat intermittent. Analyzing the indentations, one could barely make out the strokes of each letter.
"Why do the eyes wither, and not the Rose?"
It was Xu Si's handwriting.
It was just an idle question she'd written down.
She hadn't expected a serious answer.
But as her gaze moved down, there was, unexpectedly, another line of English. It must have been written in the afternoon. The handwriting was very careful and meticulous; where the ink had broken off, it had been repeatedly filled in, without the slightest hint of carelessness.
"Because Xu Si will never wither."
Some emotions always burst through the constraints of time.
Just like now.
The young man's vague faith was clear at this moment.
