“Don’t always look at him. Please also look at me.”

Chen Qing Wu believed that she would marry Meng Qi Ran in the future — both of them were childhood sweethearts and were very close.

On a Friday, Meng Qi Ran’s band performed, and Chen Qing Wu took a midnight flight to support him.

Meng Qi Ran was drunk, and the one who went to pick him up was his brother Meng Fu Yuan.

The eldest son of the Meng family was serious, reserved, and taciturn. When sitting in the car and working, he wouldn’t even give her a smile.

Chen Qing Wu always felt that Meng Fu Yuan might hate her.

Until someday, Meng Fu Yuan went abroad on a business trip and brought her back a set of porcelain made by the grandmother of a friend as a gift.

Such thin porcelain was wrapped in five layers of soft shock-proof packaging and transported thousands of miles back without any damage.

It was too much trouble for her to unpack, let alone for the one who packed it himself.

A ridiculous thought suddenly occurred to her: it can’t be that Meng Fu Yuan likes me, right.

Later, when the two families got together, Meng Qi Ran wanted to propose, but when he searched all over for Chen Qing Wu, he couldn’t find her .

No one knew that in the study on the third floor, Meng Fu Yuan was kissing Chen Qing Wu’s ear, telling her with a deep voice to be quiet.

Meng Qi Ran was the turbulent wind when she was 16 years old, the butterfly she caught and released. Meng Fu Yuan was the silent abyss when she was 26 years old, and the snow that grew old together in her life