This is our last day in the same school, and we will part ways soon, but you don't know that the moment I say goodbye to you, I also say goodbye to my youth.
It is another autumn, and the yellow camphor leaves carry the heartbeat of the end of boyhood. The autumn wind blows through with a sour and short-lived secret love.
Concept: A row of camphor trees is fragrant all year round, and the luxuriant branches build a brocade corridor. In summer, the scorching sun blocks the evening rain; in winter, the waning moon blocks the morning frost.