It's hard to describe my feelings at this moment when I decided to start writing this novel. I only remember that I had the concept of Hui Huan in high school. At that time, I was with my friends after school, wandering lazily along the endless tracks on the train track in the embrace of the setting sun, thinking this was a happy and entertaining thing. Not long ago, my cousin and I were talking about writing. The idea that was not very firm at first suddenly started to throb, making me want to write something, so that this indifferent world can see the pain and relief of the generation around 90, such as our indifferent acquaintance and quiet and joyful life.
I often wonder, what kind of person writes? I think about it from an immature perspective. Writing should be a kind of sustenance. The emotions that have nowhere to be placed, and the passing years, gradually mature and then grow old in the traces of writing. When writing well, it will be related to business and deadlines. Should we turn pressure into motivation, or should we force ourselves to adapt within this rigid framework, satisfy readers, and lose ourselves? I can't give a definite answer because of the circumstances we're in. But I just think that people who really write must have a very strong heart. They will understand all the flaws and evil thoughts in human nature, and they also know how to appreciate the most original love and kindness of human nature. So, many years later, when I am lamenting how time flies, as long as I can face up to my confused state of mind at the moment, that will be enough.