On Saturday, Song Jiawen would usually have dinner at her mother's place as usual, but today she planned to go there a bit later because Yang Dan had called early in the morning to say she would drop by with some milk tea.
The temperature in Beijing at the beginning of November had already fallen to single digits, and the breath exhaled in the early morning turned into white mist.
Song Jiawen was wearing a beige quilted hoodie that Mu Chenyan had bought for her, with a matching down vest layered over it. The white fur on the hood of the vest made her face look even more delicate and ethereal, her pale and fine skin resembling that of a newborn. As she walked downstairs, both men and women couldn't help but sneak glances at her.
