This day is the second day of November. The autumn dusk in Beijing is filled with helpless fallen leaves and the setting sun struggling to go down the mountain. The silent fields were shrouded in a faint gray haze. Through the portholes one could see the vast gray sky. 20 Minutes later, after a violent sway, the plane arrived at Beijing International Airport. But the person to pick me up hasn't arrived yet. Maybe it's because Beijing's traffic is nearly paralyzed, or maybe I'm the kind of person no one cares about.
Conception: