The parasol trees in the old alley have grown for twenty-two years, but the oaths carved on the tree trunks were eventually blown away by the wind and snow. He thought that pushing away meant preservation and forbearance meant gentleness, but he never expected that the most hurtful thing in the world was never malice, but a sharp knife wrapped in love. The evening breeze blows across the seaside, and there is no girl holding a diary, waiting for someone who will never come. Even if there is snow on the parasol trees in the world, there is no time to go back to the old covenant.
