This is a story about "this time, I won't let go".
Seventeen-year-old Jiang Jinqiu lives in an old street where no light can be seen - the insults from his parents, the bullying from his classmates, and the ubiquitous malice push him into the abyss inch by inch. He thought the world was like this, enduring everything quietly until he met the young man named Lu Tingzhi.
He was first in grade and acted coldly, but he reached out to him again and again. Pass a pack of wipes, pick up a pen, stand in front of everyone. Jiang Jinqiu didn't know that this happiness was not a coincidence, but a reunion that spanned life and death, waited and waited for finally.
Lu Tingzhi is the one who came back with memories. In his previous life, he arrived a step too late and only saw the falling figure on the rooftop on a rainy night, and a suicide note that read "I love you." In this life, he has only one thought: to find him, protect him, and bring home the kitten huddled in the corner.
From the time he lied about being a "brother" in the hospital, to living in the same room, becoming legal family, and then the two hearts slowly getting closer - Lu Tingzhi tried his best to get Jiang Jinqiu out of that rotten native family. And Jiang Jinqiu finally learned to raise her head, run, and believe that "you deserve all the good things" in the mint-flavored warmth.
This is a story about redemption and healing. Gentle and firm, the water flows slowly.
Between them, there was a long darkness, unwilling tears, and sleeping pills clutched in the palm of their hands; but there was also an umbrella in the rain, a figure waiting late at night, the sound of the gavel falling in the court, and a soft "brother."
"It's not a dream. I'm here. I've always been here."
"Thank you for finding me."
When the first ray of light comes in, the dead trees can also bloom into spring
Intention: Spring comes out of dead trees - light doesn't come by waiting, it comes when someone finally dares to reach out and catch it after someone cuts out the darkness for you.
