When I was thirteen years old, we met for the first time. He was in the next class, leaning on the railing and standing in the corridor, quietly looking at the green bamboo forest outside the classroom. He was immersed in the light and shadow of the bamboo, and the most wonderful colors of light and dark flowed on his smooth forehead. The hustle and bustle around him didn't affect his tranquility at all. I looked at him and suddenly remembered Zhimo's poem "I am a cloud in the sky, occasionally projected in the center of your waves."