Rather than a love essay, it seemed more like Bian Haiying was confessing her own feelings, her aspirations, her pursuits, and her endless affection for her lover.
If Lin Han were the paranoid type, he might well take the essay personally.
But Song Yunuan really couldn't do anything about this Prose Society.
After all, this was the eighties, the era most brimming with passion and idealism in pursuit of romance and poetry.
They loved to cut out articles and photos from newspapers, loved to copy down quotes and fine sentences from famous people, and even more, they loved to create, to engage in anything related to the written word.
Song Yunuan turned her head, ready to read her own book.
Bian Haiying glanced at Song Yunuan, frowning slightly. Song Yunuan appeared low-key, but was actually anything but.
