Li Shiyi gave A Yin a strong medicine; A Yin only realised it once she had woken. So, she had no choice but to accept, going in circles, that Li Shiyi was still the one who understood her the most; if it wasn’t her who had scared her into fleeing in defeat, it would probably have been a great many years before A Yin would have uttered this phrase. She laid on A Luo’s arm, and said, “I don’t want to like Li Shiyi anymore.” From childhood to adulthood, in the course of her quarrelling with Li Shiyi, Li Shiyi usually didn’t speak, allowing her to vent her feelings hysterically; not even if she was hurt would she coax her, nor would her cool gaze glace at her if she cried; she would wait until she had scolded her to her heart’s content, and then use a retreat to advance with a couple sharp phrases. Oftentimes, A Yin herself would feel that it was without meaning, and would weep and wail endlessly like a woman with a grudge, losing face all the way up to her grandmother’s family. After that