Later, every daybreak was golden like Chu Wanning’s soul. Every nightfall was dark like Chu Wanning’s eyes. Later, every beam of white moonlight was like the snow of his sleeves, every rising sun was like the warmth in his eyes. Later, he’d see Chu Wanning’s silhouette in the vermilion clouds on the horizon, in the cerulean light of dawn, in the surging, billowing clouds overhead.
Your honor, he's in love.
— Aug 19, 2026 07:34PM
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