If life is just like the first time we met, why should the autumn wind draw a fan sadly? If this "Hidden" is lucky enough to reach the ears of someone who understands this story, I hope they can still remember that there is someone who yearns for a memory that he has long forgotten, and it is difficult to feel sorry for him in this utilitarian and glitzy era.
The joys and sorrows of little people will turn into mud and water and disappear into the world of mortals just like everyone else's. I'm just a little bit unwilling to give in. I'm not willing to accept that it was difficult to make water in the vast sea, but now I lie in front of the steps and listen to the dripping until dawn. I don't dare to expect sympathy from what I said and felt, I just ask you to believe that under the Boya Tower, by the Weiming Lake, once, once...
Intention: How does pure love gain a foothold?