There are a group of people who have been pushed away by time in Huaihua Lane. Some people are guarding their old houses and waiting for a letter that will never come. Some people grew up with secrets on their backs. Some people hide their love in daily necessities and silence. The locust trees at the entrance of the alley bloom and fall year after year. Zhou Qinghe's youthful worries, the grievances of his neighbors, the debt of family ties and the twists and turns of fate are all slowly fermented in this old alley. Only when I look back many years later do I realize that the most ordinary fireworks in the world often hide the most painful and warm life.
