People often say that late spring is soaked in fog, while clear autumn hides silence.
Xu Mengwu was born on the 17th day of May, when the iris covered the slope. The morning mist and drizzle at the end of the entire semester wrapped up his trivial thoughts that had nowhere to put them. He always leaned on the railing of the corridor and looked toward the art room, his eyes covered with a layer of gauze. All the joy and anxiety were half-hidden in the mist, and he never wanted to reveal them openly.
Bai Liubai falls on the birthday of August, when the city is full of cinnamon. There is a large piece of blank drawing paper spread out on the table all year round. The brush hangs on the paper and refuses to fall. I habitually seal the long thoughts into the blank space. I only use my silent eyes to catch the figure at the other end of the corridor from a distance.
At the end of the semester, school begins in late spring and early autumn, which spans a whole hot summer.
One person mixes his secret love into the morning mist and iris-filled evening breeze, while the other person hides his heart in the blank paper and the fragrance of cinnamon in the autumn night.
At the age of seventeen, the spring mist spreads through the long alley of the campus and eventually breaks into the quiet autumn white.
Intention: Dusk River, Spring and Autumn, meeting each other is fate, if we can meet, we should treasure it