But Xu Zhiyuan Was Born

Fang Yanshen always felt that he had forgotten something. There is a bridge outside the university where Fang Yanshen studies, which he must pass when he returns home during the holidays. The wind on that bridge is extremely strong, it is very cold in winter, and the sun is very irritating in summer. Every time he walked on the bridge alone, he always felt empty in his heart, as if something was missing. In this way, he spent three or four years. One day he was informed that he was moving and had to pack his things first. When he went home to clean his room, he found a large box of old things from high school. He flipped through them one by one, and finally found an old classmate directory at the bottom of the box. Fang Yanshen opened the book curiously and laughed out loud at the childish words. On the last page was a sharp and unfamiliar word: "See you soon." For some reason, he shed tears uncontrollably when he saw this sentence. There was always an invisible young man smiling at him in his mind. The name under the words came into view—Song Zhiyuan. His hands that turned the pages were shaking violently, his mind was buzzing, and the deep memories began to boil. That boy suddenly had a new look. He accompanied Fang Yanshen on the path to enjoy the evening breeze, taught Fang Yanshen how to play basketball at dusk, and stretched out his hand to warm Fang Yanshen's red ears in the cold winter... Fang Yanshen remembered. It was after the college entrance examination, and he asked someone out to confess his love. He rushed across the zebra crossing with a red face, but a large truck's brakes failed and hit him directly. Song Zhiyuan pulled Fang Yanshen away, but neither of them escaped the major car accident. Song Zhiyuan died on the spot, while Fang Yanshen was seriously injured and was in a coma for a month, losing part of his memory and even unable to speak. The car accident took away his fruitless love, leaving him alone and confused in this painful world. **** Short story There is a big reversal **** Intention: Every gust of wind passing by is the sound of longing.