The male protagonist returns to his hometown to pack up the belongings of his late grandmother, and finds a box of dusty old things in a wooden box: a black-and-white photo of the girl A Yuan and a stack of yellowed letters. There is an old locust tree standing in the old house. After nightfall, the faint singing of a girl will always come from the window. The windows will open by themselves for no reason. The window sill is inexplicably covered with dewy locust leaves, and all kinds of weird things happen one after another.
He visited the elderly in the village and uncovered a past that had been buried by the years: more than fifty years ago, Shen Zhou, a young man from Chashui Middle School, fell in love with A Yuan, a young girl, but was strongly opposed by both families. The desperate couple once secretly took refuge in this vacant old house for a short time, where they retained their few warm moments. Then they ran away from home, and it was rumored that they both went to the West Lake to die for their love.
The two of them did not die here, but the remaining good memories turned into residual memories. They were trapped in the Huaishu Courtyard, replaying the trivial joys of their boyhood night after night, but they did not dare to touch the tragic ending. Grandma had already understood the strange phenomena in the house. She did not exorcise the evil spirits and suppressed them. She just silently collected the letters and preserved the traces of the two miserable teenagers' past lives.
The male protagonist understood the truth behind the letter and understood that this obsession was never a evil spirit that harmed others, but just a desire to be seen and understood. On a full moon autumn night, he placed letters, photos and old aluminum lunch boxes under the locust tree, completing a farewell that spanned decades. Locust leaves were flying all over the sky, and the lingering obsession finally dissipated. There is no bloody horror in the story. It uses a supernatural shell to tell the tragedy of young love under the pressure of the times and the liberation of obsession. Sometimes you don't need a magic weapon, you just need someone to understand their story and remember them.
