On August 29, Luo Yan went to Lao Zhou's Restaurant with her cousin for dinner and met Jian Nanxing, who was working here. He is fifteen years old, taciturn, with good-looking features and gentle bones that grew out of the mud in the lower city. He has a hearing-impaired sister to take care of, and she hides all her sensitivity in her big smile. With a pot of pickled fish and a dim light, two people who should not have crossed paths met each other quietly in this shabby little restaurant.
Intention: We are all struggling in our own mud, and no one can save anyone. But your existence makes me feel that the struggle itself may not be meaningless.