In a daze, I walked to the desk, picked up a thin pen, filled with thick ink, and looked at the snow-like rice paper. I just felt that I couldn't write. Even though I had thousands of words in my heart, in the end, I only wrote the word that I will never forget - "plum".
"The plum blossoms are all gone, and the snow is flying against the flowers." I chanted this poem softly, but a sneer filled the corners of my mouth, "Mo Yan, you still can't forget him after all..."