I use the wind as my account to calculate all the gains and losses of my youth, but I can't calculate the only thing I can't account for is meeting you when I was young.
Many years ago, I rashly wrote a lot of words while standing in the middle of a vigorous story. Now, standing at the fork in the story, I want to record it first. Maybe I can find my own answer one day when this book is finished.
I am Ai Xi, a rebellious teenager who was ignored by his original family and fell into deep depression. Sensitive and paranoid, with a strong sense of self-esteem, he is used to using cynical ruffianism to cover up his inferiority and desolation in his bones.
No one knew about the trough of suspension of school, and the self-imposed isolation when I lost contact with the entire Internet. She bridged the barriers again and again, and used gentleness and patience to catch all my negative emotions that collapsed. She is the only glimmer of light and salvation in my gloomy youth.
But the most cruel thing about youth is misplaced timing.
At the age when I had the most nothing and was full of disabilities, I met the person I most wanted to protect for the rest of my life. I was greedy for her preference, but I was trapped in the class gap and internal friction. I used childish temptations and awkward self-esteem to push away her who desperately loved me again and again.
The academic pressure, the distance from a foreign country, and the personality gap finally overwhelmed the love that went in both directions. She went overseas to restart her life, while I stayed where I was and gritted my teeth and transformed, growing from a run-down boy to starting a business against the wind.
We reunited after several years, and old love surged. I let down the gentle passerby and rushed to the white moonlight of my youth, only to find that the misaligned gears of life could no longer fit together perfectly.
Later, the wind blew up in Nanjing and the leaves on the parasol trees fell. I finally reconciled with my incomplete self.
Only then did I understand: There is no solution to love and hate, and the grand encounter and parting in youth is ultimately a life-long intention that cannot be accounted for by the wind and cannot be accounted for by me.
Intention: All accounts in the world have evidence, but the heartbeat hidden in the evening breeze at the age of seventeen can never be settled.
No need for a grand confession, we are just two parallel lines on the same plane, quietly looking at the same sky.
The wind can't remember numbers, but it can remember all the unspoken likes.