"Cheng Yu, if you dare to hide from me, I will stuff all the sycamore leaves into your desk!" Sixteen-year-old Wen Yue always threatened him like this. They grew up in Wutong Lane. One is as hot as midsummer and the other is as gentle as late autumn. They are a perfect match in everyone's eyes.
Until one day, Cheng Yu suddenly let go of the hand that always held hers.
Wen Yue thought this was just another cold war between childhood sweethearts, until she picked up his notebook in the library and found that it contained a medical certificate from the city hospital. The "coldness" she thought was his silence when he endured the pain; the "estrangement" was his determination to leave as he counted the days.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked tremblingly.
"You will cry if you tell me." He smiled and ruffled her hair, "And I can't bear to do it."
When the last sycamore leaf fell, Cheng Yu disappeared, leaving only a diary filled with "I'm sorry". Many years later, Wen Yue stood under the sycamore tree where they first met, and finally understood: some partings are not about anger, but about an eighteen-year-old boy trying his best to push away the person he loves most, just to let her remember his best appearance.
Intent: Final tone: This is not a story about death, but a story about "how to spend a lifetime learning to lose." The sycamore trees shed their leaves every year, but only that autumn took away the only young man.
