"Looking for me?"
The voice, casual and indifferent, held traces of helplessness, laziness, and even a hint of disappointment.
An Chen halted his steps and looked towards the source of the sound.
Surrounding the lakeside, there was a stone railing, gray and white; Mo Shangjun sat on that railing at an angle, her trench coat open and fluttering in the cold wind, her right leg resting on the railing, and her left leg hanging down, swinging lightly. With her back to the chilly breeze, she held a can of beer in her hand and, under his gaze, took a sip at a leisurely pace.
Behind her was the open lakeside, submerged in the night, with street lamps dotting the distance.
The lake's surface, the wintry snow, the street lamps, the passersby—in that instant, everything turned into a backdrop for her.
Even just sitting there, lazily lifting her eyelids to glance in this direction, she made a strong visual impact.
For a moment, he was reminded of that year—
That year, he met her.
