In September at Capital Medical University, the sycamore leaves have just turned light yellow, and the wind is filled with the vitality and bookishness of young students. Dragging a simple suitcase, Jiang Tong walked among the crowd, like a quiet and slender bamboo, with handsome features, but with an alienation that was incompatible with the surroundings.
There is a shallow, pale pink scar on his neck, hidden on the edge of his collar, which is difficult to detect without looking carefully. It was a mark engraved in his bones and blood, connected to a past that he desperately wanted to bury, but always came out of the ground late at night.
He is Jiang Tong. He was admitted to the top medical school in the country as the provincial champion, majoring in neurology - this was his obsession that had been buried deep in his heart since he was ten years old.
He thought that after crossing thousands of miles of mountains and rivers and coming to this prosperous capital, he could get rid of the word "murderer" and become an ordinary student, study medicine quietly, and live quietly.
Little did he know that some shadows, like pain in nerve endings, would spread throughout the body with just the slightest touch.
Intention: Heal the wounds with love and tenacity, and guard until the suffering is over and the light comes.