Late Autumn Students

The autumn colors are coming to an end. It's almost dusk, and the day is coming to an end. The days move toward the rustling Xindong in the scene of wind-blown leaves. Strolling in the desolate landscape where fallen leaves are falling, dancing and dancing, I suddenly feel that this autumn is too familiar and yet too strange; too vague and yet too real. Familiar is like being in the past; unfamiliar is like a dream that is hard to chase; blurry is like catching the wind in the shadow; real is like a needle piercing the soul. You can't keep time, but you can keep the sound in time. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.