“Ye Lin, have you perhaps saved a boy here when you were young?” Ning Shaochen asked.
Ye Lin plucked a dried grass stem and used it to write their names on the snow. She replied without even looking away from what she was doing, “Yeah, I think I did. I was too young by then to remember much of what happened. I think the boy was hurt, and I sheltered him from the rain. After that… I don’t remember much about it, but my mom hit me for the first time in my life, and it left a deep impression on me.”
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