"May I sit here?"
Shen Jiayin and Zhuang Ruyu both hesitated slightly on their faces, then moved to the right, making space for her.
Hua Miaobing sat down, crossing her hands and placing them on her forehead: "Jiayin, Jianuan. Your original name wasn't Ruyu. The name your father and I gave you was Jianuan because we both believed that the warmth of a family is the most important thing for a person. After your father died, I was lost for a while, strayed off path, and when I wanted to reclaim what was lost, I realized that the loss was far greater than I had imagined. There is no more time, truly no more time. We've lost over twenty, thirty years that could have been. A lifetime lasts just a few years."
Her voice, like a self-monologue, intermittently accompanied the falling winter leaves, resonating a melancholic ember throughout the garden.
The two listening couldn't believe she would say such things.
