The night is like gauze, dyeing the small hills in a faint ash-blue shade.
Xue Qiuchun stands gracefully on the hillside, her white dress lightly lifted by the evening breeze, resembling a trembling white plum blossom in the cold wind.
From afar, she can see Guo Xiangyu inside the tent, standing on tiptoe, gently arranging Shi Feiyang's disheveled crown.
Her eyes are filled with spring-like tenderness, her fingertips lightly touching Shi Feiyang's brows and eyes, as delicate as touching a rare treasure.
Shi Feiyang nods slightly, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth—a tenderness Xue Qiuchun longs for day and night but never receives.
Tears instantly well up in Xue Qiuchun's eyes, her chest feeling as if seized tightly by an invisible hand, each breath bringing sharp pain. She staggers back half a step, her back hitting the cold city wall, waking up as if from a dream.
