The old town in the 1990s always fogged up at dusk. Ping An stood behind the rust-colored iron door, watching the sycamore leaves tremble in the heat wave. The white magnolia blooming deep in the alley bloomed and faded. The newly planted cherry blossom trees outside the window are falling in the dusk. An invitation to the class reunion popped up in the lower right corner of the computer screen. Xiaojie's name was embedded in gold-plated Song fonts, like a cicada specimen in a museum display cabinet.
There is always a moss-like fate lurking in the folds of this city. Some people stare at the whirlpool of the Huangpu River in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Lujiazui, and some people count the growth rings of steel mills after weighing in the wet market. At night when the light rail ran over the ruins of the old factory, all the insomniacs could hear the night songs of female workers coming from deep within the concrete. The tune they hummed passed through twenty years and finally turned into the sound of wind whistling on the viaduct.
A tribute to the youth we spent together.
Intention: The contingency and inevitability of life's destiny, the unyielding and resistance under the ups and downs