In high school, Chen Yu thought that as long as he remembered one thing Lin Jin had said, he could map out his entire future.
When they met again after graduation, a bowl of clear broth noodles in a noodle shop, an old street not yet slated for demolition, and a rumor that flashed through their class chat and vanished, all came like a sudden downpour, shattering the order their younger selves had thought would last forever. Lin Jin chose a broader, more uncertain future, while Chen Yu faced a belated collapse and rebuilding among architectural blueprints and the bricks and tiles of old alleys.
Through those days, washed by rain and pushed forward by time, Su Wan's camera quietly captured the light and shadows at street corners, along with the gazes no one had ever put into words.
It turned out that some light lingered in memory to illuminate the road we would later walk alone, while some people had already, without realizing it, found their way to the very heart of the scenery.
“Architects draw the future, while journalism records the truth. In those forgotten days of the past, we finally learned how to say goodbye properly and meet again.”
