
Houchaogang
by Morning Tea And Evening Meal
About This Novel
The autumn of 2011 was like a sycamore leaf crumpled by the wind, spinning and falling into the stone road among the people. When I dragged my heavy suitcase into the threshold of the dormitory of Class 18, the setting sun penetrated the entire courtyard, shrinking my shadow into a timid moss mark on the wall. There was also the smell of ink and chalk dust floating in the classroom, and the sunlight leaking through the rear window frame was climbing onto my canvas shoes - that was a slice of the scene that reappeared in my memory countless times. At that time, I was like an ellipsis being squeezed into the crowd, and I had a unique space in the second row and the second table. Until I met them, their laughter was like broken ice falling into a soda bottle, exploding my silent youth. What really caused the ripples was an afternoon filled with mathematical symbols.
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