She had seen the quiet figure of the osmanthus tree in the dim light more than once. She lamented the beauty of the night. Confucius said: "He who hears the Tao in the morning will die at night." This is the scene of her Tao. If life could stay at this moment forever, perhaps her bones could be turned into dust in the starry sky, tainted with their deep blue sorrow. Death is so wonderful. After falling from dozens of floors, the bright red plasma may splash everywhere, blooming brilliantly like colorful fireworks in the dark blue night sky; perhaps the brain will only crawl slowly on the concrete floor, accompanied by the lonely sound of crickets.
Concept: A story about a boy and literature
