In the autumn of his sophomore year in high school, Lin Sui picked up a bronze badge in the equipment room in a heavy rain, with a vague "12" engraved on the edge. That day, a young man wearing a military uniform and carrying a sword opened the curtain and entered, and when his ribbon swept across the bruises on her knees, it caused a storm of gun oil and mints. From then on, her youth became a bronze that never rusted - the misplaced gaze reflected in the barrel of the concierge's gun, the sweat stains on the No. 12 Jersey on the sidelines of the basketball court, and the star map assembled from the five certificates on the commendation stage were all solidified into specimens in her memory.
Gu Chen is always like an unedged sword of courtesy. The slight trembling of his Adam's apple when he tied the silver collar button, the twelve-degree angle of the three-point shot from the basket, and the silhouette of him wiping his gun alone late at night were all wrapped in a mint-flavored ice shell. What Lin Sui didn't know was that the bruises from the cracks in her stockings would resonate with the crescent-shaped scar on the boy's lower back, nor did she know that the badge carried the lingering sound of the ECG monitor in Ward 12.
When the longitude and latitude of Nanjing pierced the wings of paper cranes, and when the burns on the transfer student's wrists revealed the growth rings under the wrist guards, Lin Sui finally understood those misplaced metaphors: the palm temperature that was staggered by 0.5 Seconds when the flagpole was handed over, the light blue raincoat covering other people's heads in the rainstorm, and the bronze rainy season that lasted throughout her youth - it turned out that from the beginning to the end, it was just her swallowing the rusty moon alone.
Concept: The sharpest edge of youth is the confession that always hangs in the throat without trembling.