When I was 6 years old, I met Li Yan and the boy hiding behind the big iron gate, Shen Mao.
In the Utopia where books are built, I quietly listened to Li Yan reading a poem, with a little blush on my face.
A dazzling white light took me back to that peaceful afternoon. If I had to do it again, I would make a different choice.
Intention: I don't know