People often lament the vicissitudes of fate only when the fallen leaves return to their roots. Those who often pray in the dark nights of their youth always seem to be looking forward to the perfect miracle of the future. However, they are beaten all over by this sudden thing. If they are not careful, they will fall. Into the abyss, there will be no recovery, but despite this, I am still as happy as ever. The seventeen-year-old me, plus the seventeen-year-old you, are still unable to carry the shackles of fate, with thin shoulders. Some are just yearning for the future. Even if everything is devastated, I still move forward bravely.
Seventeen years old, the story of a performance in the rainy season, sandwiched between the pages of memory at the end of summer and autumn, is so beautiful and thrilling
Five years later, in Bailu Town, in the deep lanes of ancient trees, bluestone slabs, drizzle, a woman's black hair is like a waterfall, stained with a little mist, and a rusty iron lock lies in her hand, with the atmosphere of the times, and the footprints of time are engraved, clear and distinct.
It's been five years. Time flies by, doesn't it? She thought to herself, raising her head, she saw a pair of bright eyes, as quiet as water, as clear as jade. On the brown door frame, the fiery red couplets had turned white and yellow a few years ago. Under the wind and sun, they looked like one after another eye-catching scars, stuck to the pits. The wooden frame is mottled and haggard, and further up, in the corner, is an embroidered bronze plate, engraved with dark blue numbers, with a small seal script, and through the surrounding layers of spider webs, it is faintly visible - No. 78
This is the fifth year since Muzi left, and this is the first time Muzi has returned after five years of leaving. That day, it rained, and the town of Bailu was still the same as before, with ancient trees, deep alleys, and twists and turns. Almost every alley was covered with this intriguing bluestone. It is obvious that today, asphalt is rampant. In this humble town, the appearance of bluestone seems to be natural. Stepping on it, it seems that you can hear the silence and elegance of flowers blooming and falling on the street thousands of years ago.
Count the petals falling down, one by one...
Muzi lowered his eyes slightly, closed his eyes, stepped on a piece of stone, stretched out his arms, and stepped forward again. The fourteenth bluestone slab on the left in front of the house was the largest.
She felt the drizzle and the memories
In the small town, there is a light white mist, hazy rain, old houses, old roads, and new people.
Intention: