Snow keeps falling.
He was lying on his back, and in his blurred vision, he could only see the heavy snow floating towards him like white feathers, so beautiful that he could forget time and space.
He thought of the same snowy day so many years ago, the same snow falling silently. He held an umbrella, walked across the Liuyun Bridge, and met the writer under the withered willows; he also thought of countless times when he secretly peeked at the clean fingers on the street corner bookshelf through the window lattice of the No. 1 Tea house in Jiangnan; he thought of the pair of eyes that looked at him in the night wind of Qingpi Slope, shining like stars; he thought of...
Smiles, silence condenses.