The Last Light and the Evening Breeze

When writing "Ember Sun Evening Wind", I always thought of Mu Xin's words: "The sun has become slower in the past." But youth is different. Youth is so impatient that a single heartbeat consumes half of my life's energy. This story contains the humid rainy season of 1998, the steaming soy milk on the desk, the clumsy lies of a young man and the even more clumsy sincerity. Zhou Jin and Shen Wan are like two plants growing against the light, struggling to fall in love in the cracks of prejudice and class. Those torn diaries, broken fingers, and a thousand unsent love letters are all the imprints of the times on youth. If pain is the price of growth, then this book is the common youth memory of a generation. It's not perfect, but it's real - so real that everyone who has experienced the 1990s can find the shadow of their first love in it. I hope that when you finish reading, you will be able to think of the person who once made you desperate on a noisy afternoon with cicadas.