In the winter when Jiang Yu was thirty-two years old, he received a package containing the complete works of Sanmao. The sender's name is Shen Ling, his elementary school classmate. She wrote a sentence on the back of the supermarket receipt: I have read these books for many years, and now it is your turn.
He remembered the first time he met her. When I was in the fourth grade of elementary school, I walked across the street and walked next to him. The first thing I said to him was where is your home. Later, she recommended a novel that said two men can fall in love. He didn't read the book, but he remembered the title. Many years later he found it online, clicked on it, glanced at the catalog, and closed it again.
In junior high school, he lay in the corridor on the second floor and looked at someone he hadn't spoken to for three years. In high school, I kissed someone in the gray moonlight. Later, the person said - it's not normal for us to be like this. I had several relationships in college, and each one repeated the same thing: getting closer, and then running away.
He went north. Living alone. On weekends, I stood on the balcony and looked at the river downstairs and the street lights on the other side. One of them had been broken for a long time and kept flickering, but no one had ever repaired it.
He never read that book. Some things are better left unopened.
He didn't wait any longer. The light is on, not because you are waiting for anyone.
Intention: He believes that destiny is a road that has been repaired long ago. Which fork you take, who you meet, who you miss, are all determined. Not to be pessimistic, but to be honest.