The person's face was already as radiant as a peach blossom, their eyes dreamy, and their long eyelashes like the cicada wings emerging in the early summer morning, gently swaying snow-white arms.
He held his breath, his voice as soothing as a lullaby, "Xixi, let's get married…"
She stared at him, "Based on what?"
"Because I love you. Xixi, think about it, you're almost thirty, not young anymore, dragging it out further wouldn't be good, right? In the future, people will start calling you a 'leftover woman'…"
She suddenly widened her eyes, "Leftover woman? Didn't you once tell me that the idea of a leftover woman is a conspiracy by the authorities? It's a concept hyped to alleviate the future crisis of millions of bachelors, to make women foolish enough to marry just any man, regardless of how bad he is…"
He laughed silently, grudgingly, "Your memory's pretty good."
"Isn't it? I remember all the things you told me."
"I wouldn't have told you if I had known."
