Bamboo horse and the sky fell HE

"and many more."

Wen Yu turned around.

Fu Yuhan walked to the bonfire, turned his head and glanced at the lit rowhouse, and took a deep breath.

Then, he untied the plastic bag and poured all the contents into the fire.

The flame suddenly rose two inches, and Wen Yu could vaguely see that it was a bunch of lucky stars and ordinary origami stars.

A big bag here and there.

This is the thing that Fu Yuhan has memorized all the way, and it looks like a gift if you look at it delicately.

…I only gave him one before.

One.

Wen Yu touched the scarf around his neck subconsciously.

And it was indeed such a big pot for Yang Fan.

It's a double standard.

"I'm just a layman," he thought silently. "I'm so sore now."

Fu Yuhan watched those paper stars turn into ashes in the bonfire, then threw the plastic bag into the trash can beside him, and finally walked towards Wen Yu.

"Let's go," he said.

Wen Yu stretched out his fingertips, lightly brushed the corners of his eyes that were cold in the cold wind, and touched his fingers with warmth.

It's really sour, and it's so sour that it wants to explode in the next second and tear the house down.

"You're crying again." Wen Yu looked at him gravely.

Fu Yuhan took out a pack of tissues from his pocket, wiped his eyes casually, and blew his nose: "This way it's gone."

Wen Yu laughed angrily at him, turned around and left.

"Brother Yu!" Fu Yuhan stretched out his hand to hold him.