That Year, the Summer Was Still Young and the Ginkgo Trees Had Not yet Fallen.

This is a personal souvenir book that travels through time, belonging to me who grew up in the 1980s in Wuhan, a Jiangcheng city. The story begins in the late 1990s, a year when old and new were intertwined, where pure and clumsy young love quietly sprouted. There are no complex calculations, only the panic of racing heart, the temptation to hesitate to speak, and those small but unforgettable moments that are gilded by time. Now, based on real experiences, we have picked up those pearls scattered in the long river of time one by one and carefully connected them together. This is not only a tender confession of a personal history, but also a belated and affectionate commemoration of that specific era, that unique city, and the youth that will eventually pass away but never fade away for all of us. Time flies, and when we look back, the throbbing of first love, the confusion about growth, and the imprints of a city's changes have never really gone away. Uncover this dusty period of time, use words as a boat, and travel upstream. I commemorate the person who taught me what "like" is for the first time. This is a personal footnote to history, and it is the most affectionate look back at the years.