The writing of “Clouds Rising over Three Rivers” carries a promise about youth. In middle school, my friends and I would sit together and piece together the outline of a story, taking turns adding our ideas. Back then, we promised to write a story of our own together.
But time kept pushing us forward. We graduated, continued our studies, and left for different cities. The friends who once crowded around the same desk to discuss the plot gradually scattered among the sea of people. That promise to create together became a regret I would sometimes remember. Over the years, the bits and pieces I wrote whenever a spark of inspiration struck quietly recorded the enthusiasm we had felt back then.
Not long ago, while sorting through old belongings, I unexpectedly found the draft we'd buried at the bottom of a box all those years ago. The pages had yellowed, but our youthful handwriting was still there. Those scattered ideas about characters and plot suddenly surged back like a tide, as if a switch had been flipped, awakening every sleeping memory. It turned out that the excitement we felt back then had never truly been forgotten.
Now I've carefully organized those chapters and posted them on the platform. I hope to honor the promise I made when I was young and gently place this story, still warm with the spirit of youth, in front of you. The writing may still be a little rough, so I welcome your feedback. If you find even a little something to relate to, or simply enjoy the story, that will be more than enough to comfort me.
Thank you to everyone willing to open it.
