What is written is a piece of reality, perhaps it cannot be called a novel. It's just a fragment of my experience in the past four years... In fact, it's just a diary I wrote to myself, just a little reminder to look back at that time.
Maybe you and I have experienced such feelings, such unwillingness, such perseverance, such imperfect... Young man.
"Jian Jia is green, white dew is frost, the so-called beauty is on the side of the water..." This song "Qin Feng Jian Jia" is now just the so-called past on the side of the water to me.