His name is Li Ninghe, sixteen years old, from Fenyang, Shanxi. My mother worked three shifts in a textile factory, and my father worked on the railway for half his life and was still a temporary worker. His biggest characteristic is his quietness: he walks silently, speaks for fear of taking up space, and his eyes are clean and dark, as if they have never been stained by anything. Until Wang Yueting sat next to him in the third row from the bottom. He comes from South Street, he has a big fist, and he doesn't say a serious word. Li Ninghe asked him if he won the fight. This was the first human conversation between them. Later, Wang Yueting made up an orange orchard - in the north of Fenyang, surrounded by a river, and the branches were bent by the weight of the oranges. He said he had gone there when he was a child, but couldn't find it later. Li Ninghe believed it and asked how to get there. That was his brightest dream in sixteen years, and it was also the real starting point of this disaster.
Later, he killed Wang Yueting's father to keep the appointment.
In Fenyang in the 1990s, coal smoke hung at the bottom of the air, Hong Kong movies were played in the video hall, and homosexuality was called a "strange disease" in notices. Poverty here is not fatal, but it is irritating and wears away all one's imagination for the future. Under the gray sky, two teenagers stole oranges, saved money, drank bulk sorghum wine, shouted the truth into the night sky on the river embankment, and covered it up with jokes. There is no sweet love between them, no redemption, only a place that does not exist and a casual lie, which is regarded as a promise by one person and answered by disappearing from the other person.
There are no orange groves in Fenyang, and there never have been. But someone spent a lifetime proving that some things are heavier than existence.
This article is a serious realistic novel and does not provide any fun points or HE. Please enter with respect for that era and these people.
Purpose: This work aims to show that when people are forced into desperation by poverty, violence and the prejudice of the times, the only and most profound emotion they can give is a destructive sacrifice. It does not glorify suffering or glorify crimes, but simply asks honestly: In a world that does not allow love to exist reasonably, what kind of distortion will love become and what a heavy price it needs to pay. It is a silent lament dedicated to all the nameless people who have been crushed by the times but still try to protect something with all their strength.