When I saw him, he had been polished into a pearl. I don't know what kind of experiences he had gone through. He no longer had the dazzling light like a diamond, only the gentle color of a round jade was left. I'm not sure whether this is good or not. I don't know if this is a kind of growth or a kind of sadness. I only know that I always hope that I can see his loud laugh, wanton running and bright eyes. Therefore, I hope that I can be a gust of wind that blows away his sorrow and blows away his sorrow. My name is Morning Wind, and his name is Evening Bell. It is the last bell in the dusk. It is so quiet and distant, just like the faint love between him and me.