The writing of "Clouds Rises from Three Rivers" hides a promise about youth - when I was in middle school, I often sat around with my friends, and you and I sketched the outline of the story sentence by sentence. At that time, we agreed that we would write a text that belonged to us.
But later, time pushed us forward. After graduation, further studies, and traveling to different cities, the figures who once crowded in front of a desk to discuss the plot gradually disappeared in the sea of people. This creative agreement has become a regret that occasionally comes to my mind. Only some content I have written intermittently with sporadic obsessions over the years quietly records my original enthusiasm.
Not long ago, when I was sorting out old things, I accidentally turned over the manuscript of that year that was pressed at the bottom of the box. There are still green handwritings on the yellowed pages, and those small thoughts about the characters and the plot suddenly wake up the sleeping memories like a wave of switches being pressed - it turns out that the original heartbeat has never been truly forgotten.
Now, I have carefully organized these chapters and published them on the platform. I not only want to give an explanation for the young promise, but also want to gently hand this story with the warmth of youth to everyone. The text may still be awkward, so I would like to ask readers to give me your valuable comments. If you can find some resonance in it, or simply like this story, it will be a great comfort to me.
Thank you to everyone who is willing to open it.
