Ye Che looked down with a smile, his gaze growing distant. The corners of his lips curled into a beautiful arc, but he didn't speak.
After a long while, the audience below began to whisper amongst themselves, somewhat puzzled.
Suddenly, Ye Che reached out and pulled down the white gauze behind the stage.
On the white wall, under the soft light, hung several framed sketches. The paper and craftsmanship seemed as if they had endured many generations.
In one sketch, a handsome young boy leans against a big tree, opposite a white villa where a little girl in oversized pajamas innocently looks at him… At the bottom right of the sketch, it reads: That year, Ye Che was twelve, Xia Weiyi was six.
In the second sketch, the boy had grown up. In front of him, there was a three-tier cake; the girl held a little mouse necklace, swaying it in front of the boy… At the bottom right, it reads: That year, Ye Che was twenty, Xia Weiyi was fourteen.
