Introduction to the work "Spring Fog Late"
When the chalk box bottomed out for the third time, Lin Xiaomai felt the spring in the south.
The Chinese teacher who had just arrived would not have thought that the pile of disappearing compositions would become the key to the boy's heart. In the afternoon when Jiang Chuan turned the ballpoint pen out of the afterimage, the humid mist was climbing up the classroom glass. He hid all the sharp edges and corners, but wrote mathematical formulas more neatly than love poems.
The desk knocked over by Zhou Xiaoxiao, the chalk dust scattered by Chen Hao, the class fee envelope sprouting in the locker, the temptation of seventeen years old is like the rain in the rainy season, which always falls when the clothesline is dry. Lin Xiaomai stood on the boundary between the podium and the playground, watching the teenagers turn their trust into popping candy - it would explode if held under the tongue, and sticky if hidden in the palm of the hand.
When the April rain covered the medal podium at the sports meeting, Jiangchuan's school uniform guarding the sign-in book was covered with dark blue clouds. Lin Xiaomai counted the crescent marks on the young man's palm and suddenly understood the function poem he wrote on the back of the supplies list. At this moment, the ceiling fan is still spinning, the chalk dust is still hanging in the air, and some seeds have broken through the frozen soil and grown like spring in an unknown place.
