"Didn't you say you liked me, and were willing to marry me?" Xiaojiu's tone was charming. "Turns out you were just trying to make me happy."
"I wasn't trying to make you happy; she and I are siblings," Lu Bai said. "No matter what, we have no future together. Besides, too much blood and hatred separate us. Love and hatred are just a thought apart, and she probably wants me dead, but the time hasn't come yet."
Xiaojiu fell silent, looking at her favorite photo—Lu Bai's solo picture, where he looked like a melancholic teenager. Nowadays, even when looking at the photo, she could feel how much the photographer loved the boy in the picture.
"What if you weren't siblings?"
