He was riding a motorcycle, and Xu Yizhen sat in the back seat, holding his waist. In the orange dusk, the lights are on. The leaves of the camphor tree are lush, casting colorful light from the gaps. In the gauzy twilight, a truck drove past the street, and the huge volume of the car stereo cut through the street. The trickle of music and the smell of osmanthus in the wind surrounded the surroundings. George Bovich sang, "My lover, please hold tightly to the reins of time. The past passes slowly. Wherever you go, love is desolate..."
Intention: