"Brother..."
When she was born, her brother had already skipped grades consecutively and was in junior high.
When she learned to write, it was her brother who taught her every stroke.
The strokes were sharp and strong. The words were a reflection of the person who wrote it, and an unruly and ostentatious aura assaulted her.
Song Yaoyao's heart sank.
Her throat was dry. She licked her lips and asked calmly, "Are you and my brother friends?"
Hearing that, Nolan coughed.
Song Yaoyao suspected that she was hallucinating. She actually saw a hint of awkwardness in the young priest's eyes.
But when she wanted to take a closer look, there was nothing left.
Nolan said matter-of-factly, "Of course! He and I are very, very good friends!"
Song Yaoyao did not read the letter immediately. "Song Wenchuan?"
She said a name.
