Magnolia Is Not Snowing

"If fate were a blizzard, I would be the stubborn gravekeeper." —— In his sophomore year of high school, Wen Huaizhi left high school and prepared to study in Japan, so he went to Qingcheng Institution to learn languages. March was snowing, and Wen Huaizhi woke up hungover in a bar and met Xiheng. He remembered the scar on the back of the man's neck like unmelted snow, the faded gilt characters on the Yuxi cigarette box he smoked, and the lowered eyelashes when he said "I can do it" - obviously the most indifferent words, but he always put them into practice in the most picky way. They huddled in a leaky rental house, repairing a broken bicycle that would never ride to the end of the world; they painted the aurora borealis in Iceland on a rainy night, but the blood drops dyed the drawing into the sunset; they agreed to go to the Xilin Gol grassland, but in the end only the equestrian gloves burned in front of the tomb. "When the magnolia blooms, it will snow." When Xiheng said this, petals fell on his shoulders. Only later did Wen Huaizhi realize that the existence of some people is like three months of snow, which is so short-lived that it melts before being touched. —— "Group portrait BE aesthetics" - Li Qingning × Xili: A depressed teenager wrote on the last page of his diary, "I am like a drowning person, I should not drag you to the burial" - Hella × Nanding: The bell pattern has been embroidered on the inside of the wristband for ten years, but after all, I didn't wait for the response to my confession. - Jiang Chupan × Zhong Muchen: The broken headphone cord will always stay in "Unfinished Song" —— "When the last petals of the magnolia tree cover the tombstone, I finally learn to ask the void: Really?" And there is no longer that voice in the wind that answers "I can do it." Intent: This is a dialectic about transience and eternity. When the unusual snow in March falls on the early blooming magnolia, the essence of this story is destined - the purest beauty is often the easiest to fade away, while the deepest pain can grow into bones. We are all playing against time: Wen Huaizhi tried to delay the collapse of his heart with expensive cigarettes, Xiheng hid the unfinished grassland map when he wrote "I can do it" in the medical record, and the bell pattern embroidered by Hella on the inside of the wristband will never wait for the response. These futile resistances are just like the magnolia blooming stubbornly in the snow, knowing that it will wither the next moment, but still trying to imitate spring with the curvature of its petals. Death is not the end, oblivion is. So Wen Huaizhi became a gravekeeper and lived the rest of his life as a long rebellion - he burned the ticket to freedom, but let the ashes turn into horses in Hokkaido; he hated tobacco but smoked the pack of Yuxi, and finally understood the cruelest stroke of the word "encounter". Those unsent love letters, unplayed voices, and unarrived trips have all become daggers piercing the void. In this eulogy of youth, there is no redemption, only remembrance, and no relief, only the tenderness of carrying forward with a heavy burden. When the last petal of magnolia covers the name on the tombstone, the snow becomes the lightest tombstone, and the memory is the heaviest relic.