Since childhood, you have been frail and sickly. You've consulted every famous doctor in Jiangnan, but all they could do was shake their heads helplessly — you won't live past thirty. So when Wen Yunwan gave you that jade hairpin still carrying the scent of her hair, you could only return it exactly as it was. How could you possibly accept it? You could bear her blaming you, her hating you, but the one thing you couldn't bear was her spending half her life beside your gravestone. But she was too stubborn. Even after you rejected the hairpin, she didn't give up. She watched the snow with you, admired the flowers, read books, brewed your medicine — you lost count of how many times she watched the flowers bloom and wither by your side. When her mother urged her to marry, pressing her to wed a young master from the capital, she refused. She didn't want to leave you, so she confessed her love, thinking you would accept her. But she never expected you to reject her coldly. "I've always thought of you as a friend," she said, her eyes red and her voice trembling. "We've spent so many years together... how heartless you are. I hate you." In your heart, you thought: hate me, then. Hating me is still better than you keeping vigil over a coffin for the rest of your life. For a month, she deliberately avoided you, and you didn't go looking for her either — you were troubled, and afraid you'd lose control. The next time you heard news of her, when you learned that she had stopped eating, you still set out for her residence.