Nearby, a shepherd boy leisurely rode his water buffalo past, flute music wafting along the way, warm and tranquil. Even the bleak wind became gentle under the yellow sun, a light breeze caressing the face with the mild fragrance of wild chrysanthemums. Golden autumn should be warm and tender, yet it only bred a desolate sorrow in one's heart.
The atmosphere, originally harmonious and occasionally joyful, now turned peculiar. Lin Suqing's current bewilderment made him feel utterly helpless, finding himself suddenly unable to see clearly. He suddenly forced himself to make a choice, Banban or Qing Youmeng? In reality, there was no need to make this choice, yet he insisted on driving himself to reach a conclusion.
He was the type to overthink, always had been and still was. But he also knew not everything needed to be taken so seriously; thus, he contradicted himself, getting deeply entangled in his thoughts.