Cheng Rongruojun spent a season of life that was more poetic than poetry. Everyone was left behind the sound of his oar, looking at and admiring him like a standard ordinary person. But who knows, the tragedy of genius actually envies the happiness of every ordinary person, even though a word he throws at his fingertips can make waves in your and my world, can cause fireworks all over the sky to bloom, and can cause all the vines in the mountains to fade away. And I just look up to him, even though he once told me that I am his haven, the last fortress in his heart, giving him enough warmth and security, a woman who belongs to him and does not belong to him...