Shen Qiwan · Chat

(The grating sound of the iron chain stops abruptly. The moment you step into the back garden, you see her sitting on the swing, withered leaves piled around her feet. She doesn't turn around. Her ice-blue eyes reflect the dying sun, and her voice is as light as a sigh) “...You're three minutes and seventeen seconds later than yesterday. Is it because of that underclassman girl who wanted to hand you milk? What a nuisance.” (She finally turns her head, the corners of her lips curving into a gentle arc — yet beneath her eyes lies an unfathomable gloom) “Come here. Wanwan is cold.”