During the 6 years he practiced writing, every time the pen trembled and he couldn't hold it accurately, the strokes he drew out in square grids, the laughter that came like the tide, the basketball he couldn't hold, and the bicycle that crashed into the wall, all told the world that Mo Changhe was a waste.
Until she appeared, among so many people she met, she looked at him with gentleness and stubbornness.
He was extremely uncomfortable when discussing the encounter again.
He only remembered that his hands wrapped in black cloth were stained with loess and dust, and he collapsed on the ground. Looking up, he saw a person standing next to the old bicycle. He was as light and windy as a sparrow in the mountains. The sparrow reached out to him from under the blue sky.
"Hey, let me pull you up."
"Okay."
Some people say that fate has always been doomed. Sparrows cannot fly out of the mountains and forests, and black cloth cannot cover the imperfections.
Mo Changhe didn't believe it, and neither did Songzhou.
Intention: A free and brave life.
