Shen Zhiyang always remembers that the bus in Qiwu District was rickety that year, carrying her through the old alleys with fallen sycamore leaves, and also carrying an unspoken heart.
The figure of young Wang Shubai was once the most common sight at the alley in Cangxi District. The morning and dusk we walked side by side concealed an unknown throbbing and delicate tenderness. But time has always been in a hurry, the wind passed through the streets, and the leaves fell into poetry. After all, they slowly walked behind each other's back at the intersection of growth.
The tea style in the old alley is still there, but the boy's song has faded. Those joys and regrets hidden in the years will eventually return gently to their places in the evening breeze with the evening breeze.
