This is a story that I have been thinking about for a long time. It is about Gu Miao and Fang Guo, but it is not just about Gu Miao and Fang Guo. In the bustling world, there are so many Gu Miao, how many Fang Guo, and how many such stories. In a leisurely afternoon, I hold a cup of tea, open this book in the mist, and think of the bridge I crossed, the roads I walked, the clouds I saw, the cup of wine I drank, and you, who I met alone at the most appropriate age, smiled, sighed, and then burst into tears.