That year Xiaodai was still there, that year Wu Fei was still there, that year we were full of hope, that year our love was strong, that year the sun was shining brightly, that year we were young. Now we get together again, after three drinks, in the late spring night, smelling the unknown fragrance of flowers in the air, and start singing songs. The songs float on the Zhixi River and ripple into the ears of every passerby. They look back at these crazy people. We don't want to explain this perverse behavior to others, but in the singing, in each other's eyes, we meet our former running selves again.
Intention: