"The aurora will not stay for anyone, but I once imagined that it would shine for me."
An Jishu's Youth is a collection of wrong questions filled with annotations.
He used to huddle in the corner of the classroom, using his lenses to filter out the noise of the world, until Jiang Mingyu penetrated the matte glass like a beam of bright light - the "three good students" who were always surrounded by applause.
Jiang Mingyu's life is a precision-operated formula.
His father used belts to correct deviations, and his mother used tears to mold specimens. He must become the perfect porcelain in the window. Until he discovered that someone would put together the torn drawing paper for him and write next to the burn scar: "Do mistakes bloom into flowers?"
"Do you know what... Is in Morse code?"
"Distress signal."
"No," he wrote on his palm dipped in iodine, "it's Ruin."
I remember the Monstera deliciosa in the military training clothes drying room:
-He crimped the edges of the pill box he picked up.
The iron sheet on the rooftop of the laboratory building remembers:
——He folded orange candy wrappers into 128 paper cranes.
The grains of sand in Dunhuang remember:
——The train ticket torn in half turned into ashes on the night when the aurora fell.
The cactus died in the snow, the aurora drowned in the day, and we finally learned to say goodbye by looking at each other.
Purpose: "In a life like an error code, look for the light that cannot be named."