"You stand on the bridge and look at the scenery, and the people watching the scenery are looking at you upstairs. The bright moon decorates your windows, but you decorate other people's dreams." It was this little poem by Bian Zhilin that evoked the infinite tenderness in my heart. At this time that year, the two people who were watching the scenery on the top floor were separated in the sea of people. Little did they know that the moment of touching and warmth had stopped in the books prepared for a certain exam, and remained still in the green letters, looming in the ignorant and passionate words. The story begins here.
Conception: