Returning to London again, Zhao Yan felt an urgency, as if her heart were burning—a feeling she had never experienced before!
After all, she had gone missing, in a way that all of Yangzhou couldn't find any traces. And she had disappeared as if in a plant-like state.
But now, she was alive and lively, living and studying in England, and going back for a reunion with Lu Yumei and Zhao Han.
In all this, there were many things she needed to explain to Liu Zhizhong.
Looking out of the car window at the autumn rain night in London, Zhao Yan's heart gradually quieted.
The autumn rain in London seemed like a delicate watercolor painting, slowly spreading across every corner of the ancient city.
As the sky darkened, the fine rain strands softly wove the curtain of night, falling silently on the cobblestones with a light and crisp sound, like the whisper of time.
Streetlights lit one by one, and the dim halos blurred in the rain, cloaking the wet streets in a layer of gauzy mist.
