When the sycamore leaves fall, the world knows autumn. The 16-year-old boy couldn't hide the joy in his heart, but his courage was dried up by the burning heart. Is it an ice sculpture solidified in lava, or a burning feather on a snow-capped mountain?
In the first cold autumn in Jincheng, Chen Luo caught her. Later, he always thought that the sentences she couldn't understand were full of her heart, but in the end, she couldn't write about her youth, and she couldn't write about her years!
"Chen Luo, what does autumn taste like?"
"The autumn wind scatters the sycamore leaves, and if there are flowers, they may be fragrant."
"What about winter?"
"The cold winter has just arrived, the snow has fallen into the lake, and there is also the fragrance of flowers!"
"You're lying. Who said snowflakes also have a smell? What about spring? What about spring?"
"I have searched all over spring and summer, and everything is full of flowers, but they are not flowers either!"
"Is it hard?"
"It's bitter!"
Concept: Youth is a colorless style