In the fall of 2013, Wen Wang, a transfer student from the junior class, entered Class 1, Grade 3, Jiangcheng No. 1 Middle School. The school uniform has been washed white, and there are only eight words in the self-introduction: "Wen Wang. Warm warmth, delusional delusion."
The classroom door was pushed open, and Shen Yu, the top student in science in the province, walked in against the light, stopped in front of him in the astonished eyes of the whole class, leaned over and said in a voice that only two of them could hear: "Xiao Wang, it's been three years. You finally came to see me."
They are growing up. A piece of candy at the funeral of his parents at the age of seven, a promise made with an emerald cufflink at the age of ten, and sitting side by side when they reunited at the age of seventeen - Wen thought that the future was long.
But Shen Yu's diary was filled with words he dared not say: "The only variable in my life that I cannot control is you." Shen's mother threatened Wen with a promising future, and Shen Yu chose to leave without saying goodbye. Wen Wan sat at the airport for fifteen hours, burning until he was delirious. He was holding the red rope knitted by Shen Yu in his hand and shouting his name.
For the next nine years, Shen Yu sent a postcard every year, each with one word. When the ninth one arrived in the mail, read it in succession - "When I come back I will be yours."
But when Shen Yu came back, he was diagnosed with an advanced stage of brain tumor.
On the last night, Wen Wan clutched the ticket to a small northern town and walked through the entire Jiangcheng. He didn't know that Shen Yu bought a ticket back to Jiangcheng on the same day. Two trains passed each other at a small station.
When Wen Wan arrived, Shen Yu had stopped at the age of twenty-nine forever. He held the ticket back to Jiangcheng in his arms, with four words written on the back - "Wen Wan, go home."
Nine years of waiting, in exchange for two missed tickets, and a farewell that was nine years late.
Concept: Some people don't love not enough, but love too much - so much that they think leaving is protection, so much that they spend the rest of their lives waiting for the word "go home". When two trains passed by each other on the same night, one stopped forever at the age of twenty-nine, and the other hugged a cold body, and then I realized that what I had missed in these nine years was not time, but a lifetime.