It's her. Zhang Yan.
Seeing the familiar yet unfamiliar figure stumbling out of the entrance, Tang Song's grip on the cat tightened slightly.
Even though he had seen her in the Hanfu photo shoots she sent, at this moment, this living, breathing, warm version of her, appearing so vividly before his eyes.
An indescribable sense of familiarity and closeness instantly engulfed him.
As if she had never left, always the quiet friend by his side.
In his memory, she always had the most standard student haircut, short hair brushing her shoulders, doing everything with an almost clumsy seriousness.
Her gaze always timid, cheeks turning rosy when she spoke, the typical quiet and introverted girl from school days.
But now, she seemed more mature, with all traces of baby fat gone from her face, revealing a clear and clean jawline.
Her hair was a gentle collarbone length, her body more robust than before, no longer as fragile as if a breeze could topple her.
