Wu Tong: Muffin, I want to say that only when I met you did I realize that my past was not love, my past was just making ends meet, and my past was all youth and ignorance.
The sycamore leaves fell again, and I returned to the sycamore road and sat on the stone chair where we like to sit. Sparse light broke in from among the red or yellow leaves, breaking the silence of this hidden space. Maybe this is the last time I come here, maybe I will come again, but in this patch of sycamore trees, can I remember the happiness slowly rising in those tightly clenched hands?