Rusty North Star

When I was seventeen, my stars died, and his poems were like the Milky Way growing out of the rust. Haizhen, a top student in a key high school, bumps into He Xingye, the most famous "deviant" in her grade. His hands were scarred, his eyes were like a moonless night, and there was always a cold, rust-like aura on his body that couldn't be washed away. By chance, Haizhen discovered an unsigned poem - "Rust" in the submission box of the school magazine. The words are rough and painful, but they instantly penetrate all the pretentious feelings of youth. "The starlight oxidizes into reddish-brown tears on the iron roof / In my bones / there is the last whistle before the factory shuts down." The author of the poem is He Xingye. The boy who lived in the shadow of the abandoned Red Star Machinery Factory, whose father was laid off and became an alcoholic, used to weld and twist "sculptures" with found metal parts in an abandoned art classroom. Haizhen seems to have broken into a rusty parallel world. There is no promise of a bright future here, only the noise of gears grinding, the ticking of rain leaking from the iron roof, and a teenager's instinct to fight "rust" with silence and metal. He writes poetry and then tears it up; he makes things and then smashes them. He said: "It's just showing old scars in a different way." People from two worlds established a silent and fragile tacit understanding in the dusty old classroom. Until the heavy hammer of reality fell - mother's prohibition, pressure to enter higher education, invisible gap. Haizhen was forced to retreat to her "bright" track, and He Xingye's figure gradually disappeared into the cold rainy nights and rumors of her senior year. It wasn't until New Year's Eve of her sophomore year that Haizhen once again walked towards the ruins of the Red Star Machinery Factory that was about to be developed. Deep in the collapsed workshop, she saw a wall. On the wall are poems written with luminous materials that occupy the entire wall. It was He Xingye's handwriting, written harder than before, as if he was daubing it with his soul: "They demolished the factory, along with my father's last spine... If it is destined to rust, then it will rust into my shape. If there are no more stars, the phosphorus fire on this remaining wall will be my Milky Way." At the end of the poem, it reads: "To the only person who has read my rust. Happy New Year." It turns out that even if some people sink to the bottom of the quenching pool, they will still use the remaining heat to hatch an egg that will not wake up. Some stars really start to emit their own painful light after they rust. This is a story about "dislocation" and "seeing". About how to hear the mournful cry of a loose screw in the collective high-spirited horn; in the pursuit of usefulness in the world, how to protect those "useless" rust stains, poems and metal birds that refuse to fly; and, in the black and white wasteland of youth at the age of seventeen, how to identify another rusty North Star that is equally lonely but is trying its best not to make a sound. Concept: Regret in youth