Gu Nianzhi's big eyes, like stars, dimmed little by little.
Trying to say something, she stared at the man sitting next to her in a daze, but her throat interfered very much. Her plump lips trembled and she couldn't say a word.
They clearly had the same exact facial features, but they seemed completely different.
The Huo Shaoheng in Gu Nianzhi's memory was a thick and colorful oil painting. It was full of majestic sublimity. Although he was also so breathtakingly beautiful, he still had human warmth and generosity.
But the person in front of her was more like an exquisite beauty drawn with meticulous brushwork. Every thing about him was perfect and impeccable, but he was as cold as frost, and different from how he was her memory.
In her memory, Huo Shaoheng's voice, shaking people's hearts like a subwoofer, was low and magnetic.
The man in front of her had a clear and cold voice that was a typical baritone.
