This is a long poem about self, betrayal and love, romance and madness, rebellion suppressed by common sense, and the struggle to survive on the verge of death...
It is said that there is a thousand-year-old legend about Zhufeng Temple. Anyone who hears the bamboo wind will understand the cause and effect in the world and reach the peak.
The world is bustling with people, and the temple has become a temple among the common people, but no one can find the legendary secret book anymore.
People were so disappointed that they left the temple with their hands behind their backs.
The temple remains the same.
Several hundred years later, a young man went up the mountain.
Another hundred years later, another young man went up the mountain. He was not alone. He came purely to escape from society and experience the scenery of the mountains and wild scenery - in short, to go to the temple.
I don't know if it was fate, but another young man was watching him from a not too far away place without saying a word.
Is the secret that has been kept for thousands of years true?
Bamboo wind, what is hidden?
Temple, what is it?
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Gong, who looks calm on the outside but is a coquettish and possessive person on the inside, is a fun-loving person on the surface, but he has countless mysteries about him and a victim that he doesn't even know about.
As a pure man majoring in science and engineering, Lin Cangzhu has nothing to do with the temperament of this major - he is a literary young man who loves to write some sour poems about literature and poetry. After finishing writing, he often laments his talent and laments that if it were not for the difficulty of finding a job in liberal arts, he would choose literature...
In fact, it was because he was so good in science that his teachers and parents forced him to choose Dali when he was divided into subjects.
As for our Gong, well, they say he is too sultry. Can he be in public all day long? He is busy secretly flirting with his wife behind his back.
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[Note: Writing is purely a hobby, a hobby, a hobby. I'm afraid I won't catch everyone's attention when I'm in the mood to write something. So, it's just a hobby, to relieve the frustration of being a hard-working female high school student who can't output my own inspiration when my brain is in chaos at school (this sentence is really long)... But if you like it, you can also save it and have a friendly exchange. Dear friends~~~]
Intention: self