There was no signing on the card.
But Xia Ling knew who had sent it. There was only one person in the world that would call her like that, "Xia Ling, my butterfly."
He had once said that she was a butterfly. When they had met, she was just a caterpillar and had evolved slowly in his garden. He said that he was a butterfly farmer who had put in his all to rear a valuable Pteris butterfly, willingly doing everything to please it.
She had once been so grateful to hear these words, but she forgot that there could not only be just one butterfly in his garden.
