Memory is like some kind of poisonous poison that cannot be touched.
On a bright April day, the sun is still as bright as in previous years.
Li Ruo was sitting on the steps of the empty teaching building, raising his head and squinting at the sky in the distance. His black hair hung down softly, swaying gently in the wind. I can't help but think of the building from that year, the memories from that year, and the people from that year.