That summer was long and silent.
Twelve-year-old Bai Yu had a long dream. The dream was filled with fog, and no matter how much he shouted, he could not make a sound.
She tried to grasp some illusory warmth, but only touched the cold fragments on the ground.
This is a long afternoon about growth, labor pains and self-redemption.
[Reading Guide] Literature and art tend to be slow-burning.
Purpose: to record a period of growth that no one witnessed - the calls for help that were not received, the tears that were not seen, and the cries that were not heard. Dedicated to all those who are sinking alone in the bustling world.