"I originally thought that Su Ziceng would, no matter what, draw the envelope marked with New York," Wen Maixue now sat in the Wen family's garden, her hands deftly shuffling a deck of playing cards. The envelopes were just like cards, no matter which one Su Ziceng drew, in the end, the one in her hands would just be an envelope, "Who knew she would choose Paris, well, it's only for a month. In the streets of Paris, who would care about an ordinary girl from Z country."
Wen Maixue blinked, in her hand was the ace of spades, the card in her hands tearing into shreds, flying into the air, the pieces of paper fluttering down like frost flowers.
