I still remember when I was young, the breeze was wild, the cicadas were chirping noisily, and the flowers were swaying in the wind. The shadow of time falls on the mottled road, and in the hot summer, only the boy's grin remains.
To put it simply, it is a short story about a secret love that started when I was young and ended in vain.
It is a first-person product of the early years.
Intention: Secret love is just asking the south wind to know my intention, not asking to blow my dream to Xizhou.