This is the story of a group of beautiful children, with the light fragrance and innocence of gardenias. The interlacing curves condense into a huge gray and empty picture. Everyone can only walk along it without being able to paint it. This novel is in gray and orange, an ensemble of cold violins and mournful cellos. I don't want to talk about the plot or the result, because the process is beautiful, the soul is beautiful, even if it is broken, it is still beautiful.