The afternoon sun is soft and lazy, passing through the row of tall plane trees at the entrance of the alley. The shadows of the trees are swaying, and the light spots are like golden chips scattered on the bluestone road. The breeze blows, the sycamore leaves rustle, and the air is mixed with a touch of earthy smell and the distant fragrance of coffee. Deep in the alley, a small shop called "Moxiang Bookstore" stands quietly. A mottled wooden signboard hangs in front of the door, with the name of the store written in strong calligraphy. Although the handwriting is a little faded, it exudes a literary and artistic atmosphere that has accumulated over time. There are several illustrated books with exquisite covers placed in the glass case of the bookstore. Next to it, a pot of succulent plants shines green in the sun. The vines hang slightly, as if silently inviting passers-by to push the door in.
