Kite Under the Rice Field

I am the protagonist and also a passer-by. The distant breeze blows the ears of wheat in the rice fields and also carries the kite in my hand. Standing at the entrance of the village, he was waiting for the boy he once was, and also waiting for his once young self. The place where the wind blows is the memory of his past and the youth that he can't get back. After reading this book about him or her, I hope you can think of that early vigorous morning, passionate afternoon and heart-pounding night. That person and that thing hung on the top of our hearts like a kite in the rice field. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.