"Sadly, love is hard to let go of, holding back tears, keeping love letters. Sobriety in wounds is more painful than being unconscious, tightly closed eyes, dragging mistakes—when true love comes, how can you hold onto it?"
As she howled like a wolf, Mu Yichen's voice gradually faded. She hugged a wine bottle to her chest, singing with exaggerated motion.
At that moment, she was not the quiet, indifferent Qin Mu; she was a Qin Mu who needed to vent, a Qin Mu in the midst of venting.
Mu Yichen gradually lost his voice, listening to her sing along with the stereo to that love letter song, and he leaned over to grab a bottle of the strongest liquor.
Soon, the staff brought some fruit and snacks. As the song ended, Qin Mu was already singing another tender song, but she was singing it in a mess.
When it came to singing, she was like a middle schooler who hadn't graduated, awkward to the point of having no technique and not knowing how to conceal it.
