The prototype is Suzhou Middle School.
In July, the chirping of cicadas tears through the thick air, as if it is going to boil the entire summer. The monsoon wind carries a heat wave, and waves hit the campus walls, and even the rose wall covered with vines becomes more and more intense and wanton. Roses bloomed, dark red, light pink, pure white, clustered in layers, like overturned paint trays, splashed on the green wall. The sunlight passes through the gaps in the leaves and jumps on the petals, casting fine golden spots. Wherever the breeze passes, the fragrant fragrance overflows in an unorganized way along with the undulating waves of flowers. Climb into the open window of the classroom, wrap around the flying clothes of the teenagers, and even sneak into the thoughts that are temporarily buried by test papers and exercises. Accompany them through the summer. The cicadas chirping outside the window are still tireless, and on this midsummer afternoon soaked in the fragrance of roses, the young hearts of the teenagers, like petals accidentally blown by the wind and overlapping together, begin their unpredictable entanglement and growth on the vines of fate.
Intention: Don't read it, the author can't write.