I have lived in a small southern town for eighteen years, and I was very surprised by the winter in Beijing. There was no bone-chilling cold in the north as I imagined, but there was a biting wind everywhere. The wind whistling through the empty hall seemed to tear the bones of those who passed by. The air was also extremely dry, as if the breath I breathed in would scratch my internal organs.
We just walked together, wandering around his dimly lit campus. We rarely talked, but the atmosphere was not awkward, like a long-lost familiarity, as if anyone would break the tacit understanding between them if they exchanged a few polite words at this time.
The fear and uneasiness that had haunted me for so long disappeared into the dark night air of this strange university, and the wind that ruffled my hair seemed to become gentler.
This season of winter is as warm and moist as water.
Conception: