Li Shiyi was explaining it to her. Eight characters; Song Shijiu was only able to process them after a full twenty seconds. She hadn’t had any playthings since childhood; the only beloved she had was Li Shiyi; Li Shiyi was her stuffed toy, her fledgling bird; her bamboo toy horse, her green plums; [1] she was the memories of each unsteady footstep, and her entire, world-spanning dream of embracing and kissing. She had almost thought that she was soon about to lose her. In the world, there wasn’t any feeling that emerged more splendidly than from losing and regaining something once again, even moreso when it was Li Shiyi. Li Shiyi hadn’t gotten angry, or resentful; she’d only placated her with a tone like the gentle spring breeze and melting snow. She hadn’t gone on a blind date, and didn’t want to produce children for someone else, and, more than that, she cared about her. Therefore, she earnestly and with great patience repeated that she hadn’t known. In her gaze, Song Shijiu lowered...