Alas.
Lin Xian let out a soft sigh, lifting the crumpled bundle of fake flowers to his chest just as he had done 600 years ago, pinching the wrinkled tin foil with his fingers, smoothing out each piece one by one, restoring some order to this bouquet that had traversed time.
It was just like that night of Zhao Yingjun's 24th birthday, an extraordinary birthday gift.
She said she would remember it for a long time.
But she didn't expect... that memory would stretch across 600 years.
These were 600 years after all.
It was a span from the prosperous era of the Yongle Emperor in the Ming Dynasty to the present year of 2023.
To him, it was as if he just yawned at night, laid down in bed, and those 600 years lightly flew by.
But for Zhao Yingjun.
She didn't miss a single second of those 600 years, enduring them moment by moment, minute by minute.
That kind of loneliness was beyond words.
