Hate Dream of Red Mansions

I think the romantic era of my writing began Where to start? Now the wind is blowing hard, and the wind and trees are heartbreaking. I look at the roaring red thunder, and there should be a vigorous and undying love. That's what I thought, so I cursed and questioned the blackness that was destroying the world. "What if I pursue, express, understand, and communicate openly, no longer cowardly and jealous, no longer possessive and arrogant?" Of course, there was no answer, I just stood in the wind. The wind spread my hair and slipped between my fingers, and I realized it was rain. "I'm so fucking fed up. If you love me, tell me. If you don't, please tell me. You can tear the whole me into pieces and ravage me. It doesn't matter." "Isn't that unreasonable?" "Please, are you trying to reason with love?" "Is love reasonable?" "Besides, a person is an individual since birth. He can decide whether to stay or go, to love or to hate. It's no big deal. No matter what, I can find the strength to stand up and move on." I always think like this. Wrong, it's tears. I know that falling in love cannot solve all problems, and even love can solve most problems, but please, someone must fall in love with me, I keep pleading. In fact, I'm not sure that I really screamed like this at the top of my lungs. You know, memory is always missing a piece and a piece is added, but no matter what, it is always placed there like a piece of shining silk, a place you are familiar with. At the beginning of the story, since my hero is of course omnipotent and wealthy, when everyone is busy trying to be the same, he is different, not because he is new and original, but because he himself is different. He doesn't have to be talented or indomitable, he just is himself, that's all. Oh, by the way, my name is Wu Yongan. As for him, you can take a guess. Wu Yong'an is a contradictory combination of Qingchuan and Zhongdong's temperaments - his eyebrows and eyes are as gentle as the ink of southern Xinjiang, but his outline is imbued with the toughness of northern China. He has a face that cannot be called handsome, achieving a delicate balance between roughness and softness. A boy who had low self-esteem due to his appearance as a child has grown into an adult who is good at self-comforting by "expecting the worst": he always secretly compares his cell phone clock with his intuitive estimation, and if the error is within fifteen minutes, it is his unique romantic victory. The tunnel is an hourglass of his emotions: as the train travels through light and darkness, fragments of memory float on the glass window - a golden summer, a steamy kiss, a certain "him" whose outline has long been blurred. Until one day when he was returning home, a young man with fried hair headphones bumped into his car: his dimpled smile easily pierced his clumsy disguise, and the words "Brother, you look cute when you smile" plunged the thirty-year-old Wu Yong'an into the chaos of a boy again. Wait, something else seems to have happened Intention: Stop being so self-righteous, I love you with your own attitude