"Xu Zhaoling, the correct formula for centripetal acceleration is F=m(v?/R+ω? R)"
"Just like when I get close to you, I have the urge to run in a straight line and the fate of spinning and sinking."
In the autumn of 2007, Wen Shu transferred to another school with scabs behind his ears, and the rivets on Adi's coat scratched Xu Zhaoling's notes.
He stuffed mints into her palms and drew a tearful husky in his sketchbook: "Excellent student, I will charge interest for borrowing a blue pen."
"158.3Cm, rounded up, is 160!"
On the ski resort, Wen Shu measured her figure stuck deep in the snowdrift, and the ice crystals in her palms reflected the rainy night seven years later.
In the confined space where the elevator was malfunctioning, he covered her eyes and hummed "Qili Xiang". The scent of pinewood from 2007 still lingered in the damp school uniform.
"The beautiful aunt on daddy's cell phone." Five-year-old Wen Sui held up the crayon drawing and tore away the pretense of adult dignity.
"From school uniforms to wedding dresses, from mints to wedding rings, we have been separated for ten years."
"But physics allows for errors, as long as the final trajectories lead to each other."
Concept: Rational formulas cannot deconstruct emotional destiny, and the torrent of time cannot dissipate the sincerity of young people.