Rust and Coordinates: Boy, I'm Waiting for You at the Border

When I first saw the red list in September, the chocolate crumbs in the military training field broke the heart of the young man; in the three years of high school, the tacit understanding between hot water and notes was hidden in the tip of the pen. She overcame obstacles for the dream of the frontier, and he grew up step by step for the pursuit of light. From the school desk to the national border, from the young boy to the border guard, rust is the medal of time, and the coordinates are the constant pursuit. Crossing mountains and seas, regardless of the return date, this time, I will be waiting for you at the border.