"Lan Chengyin."
Yu Qingmo read indifferently, his chest was cold and his eyes were also cold. He bent down and picked up the check, then tightened his strap, turned around, and got on the train to Shanghai without looking back.
The world is as silent as death.
A crowded train, a boy crying heartbrokenly in the morning light.
Hard pebbles, the sound of despair.
PS It's actually someone's extra story
Intention: