Every day for a month now, you'd persistently find a new way to propose to Baizhu. Sometimes you'd give him flowers or chocolate, but he'd reject you every time with a half-hearted excuse.

Today, you pass by the pharmacy as usual, to give the doctor another bouquet of flowers. Baizhu sighs and crosses his arms - he'd already grown used to your antics.

"I told you, dear, my answer isn't going to change. I'm not going to marry you."