The sunset's afterglow at dusk, the lake's surface reflecting the rosy hues, the barefoot beach, and the grandmother with a loving smile leaning on her cane...
Behind her came Zhang Xiaoyu's exaggerated shout: "Whoa, this guy is way too handsome! His voice is so good! Sorry, oppa, I'm climbing the wall for a bit..."
Shen You'an slowly turned around.
The thirty-two-inch television wasn't particularly large, and its resolution was just average.
Yet the boy on screen was exceptional—almost excessively so.
He wore a white T-shirt, light blue jeans, and had neatly cropped short hair. His features, originally sharp and striking, were softened by a warm and gentle aura.
The boy hugged a guitar, singing softly with lowered eyes, his voice tender like a dream.
A mesmerizing dream no one would want to wake from.
On him existed not a trace of sorrow; there was even a faint smile lingering on his lips.
He was like a sliver of moonlight falling upon the hurried nighttime traveler.
