The barrenness of winter looks quite ordinary.
But now the snow is falling, a thick layer accumulating among the bare branches, like ice sculptures in a crystal cabinet, possessing a different kind of beauty.
Qingqing broke free from her mother's hand, started rolling a snowball in the snow, occasionally letting out a crisp, innocent laugh, breathing out clouds of warm air.
Mu Jinqian held Lu Yao's hand, walking very slowly, the snow on their shoulders and hair accumulating more and more, with a light smile lingering in their eyes.
Without saying a word, it seemed that if they continued walking like this, they could walk into old age together.
...
By the streetlamp at the villa's gate, the hazy light enveloped Mu Jinhuan's tall, slender figure, with a layer of white snow on his short hair.
