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One early winter afternoon, Shen Yan was introduced to Jiang Wen. At that time, the sun was still warm, but Jiang was wearing thick clothes. He caught a cold, the warm weather made him listless, and he was weak and tired.
The afternoon wind is a little cold, and the stone benches in the garden are covered with thick cotton pads. Jiang is afraid of cold and wears thick clothes every winter, like a cat curled up in thick fur with only one face.
The glazed tiles of the octagonal pavilion in the distance showed bright and smooth glaze color in the sun. He narrowed his eyes and raised his hand to cover them. The soft material on the hand slipped down to reveal the small wrist. Under the thin white skin are pale blue blood vessels, and the slightly curved fingers are slender and slender.
Jiang has always been beautiful. When he was young, his eyebrows were almost gorgeous. Only after he was 30 years old did he feel old. Time is like a thief, hollowed out bit by bit, leaving only a little morbid handsomeness. As he is now, his skin is pale, his mouth is closed and his eyes are full of lingering shadows. He is a little melancholy and neurotic.
The8, across the street, is crossing his legs to drink tea. His Gherardini expression makes him feel toothache inexplicably. In a short time, he heard footsteps, looked up and saw Shen Yan walking through the long corridor in front of the eaves, following the ugly housekeeper, seemingly. ...
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