At this moment, Xu Zhiqing is resting on the tatami, her light gauze dress draping like clusters of clouds, surrounding her body.
From the side, you can see the curve between her back and waist, like a sleeping beauty waiting for the prince to wake her with a kiss.
Xu Zhiqing sighed softly, full of unhappiness.
She felt her time had frozen ten years ago.
When Yang Fei lost his memory, all happiness, all vitality, were frozen in that moment.
So many years have passed, yet she has never truly moved on.
In countless dreams, Xu Zhiqing saw the eighteen-year-old boy smiling and holding her in his arms.
But each time she woke, she had to face the cruel reality of Yang Fei losing his memory and treating her like a stranger.
How many decades does a woman have?
And the most beautiful decade of Xu Zhiqing's life had passed, all for the youth in her heart.
Reluctantly admitting it, Xu Zhiqing was already twenty-five years old.
