The first time I wanted to write something, I think it was when I was in junior high school. Maybe I have read too many European and American classics, and many fragments of gorgeous scenes always appear in my mind. I really want to record them, but it always doesn't work. The cowardly me was later swallowed up by the ruthless reality, and this idea gradually turned into a luxury hope. Until today, more than ten years later, this wish has sprouted again. This is not to say that my ability has improved much, especially in mastering a culture as profound as Chinese characters. To be more frank, practical needs have made my foreign language ability slightly better than my native language to some extent. What has changed from that time is the bits and pieces I have experienced every day in the past ten years, my deeper thinking about life, and my nostalgia for everything that has passed away.
I don't know how long this story can last, and I don't know how all the plots and characters will develop. I just know what the center of what I want to tell is. I think this story is not exempt from vulgarity, but what makes it unique is the life experience of its creator. I hope it allows everyone who passes by it to find their own comfort in it. As people say, everyone has a corner in their heart that belongs only to themselves. It is dark and bottomless, but there is always a desire for a beam of light to find its depth. Some people call it hope for that beam of light, but I choose to call it expectation, hoping that everyone will be happy.
Our story begins with a girl's long road to happiness.