In the sweet-scented osmanthus wind in September, the beam of sunlight passing through the skylight of the studio once fell on Xu Qinghe's drawing paper and Shen Yanzhi's inkstone at the same time. The bamboo shadows in her paintings always have tenacity, the brush strokes of his inscriptions always hide tenderness, and the orange cat that always squats on the bamboo fence has become a tacit secret symbol between the two of them.
Qiao Zhining's hairband is always wrapped around Shen Zhiye's camera strap, Zhou Linzhou's drama lines are always mixed with Xia Zhiying's comments, and Gu Yechi's guitar sound is always hidden with Xu Linyang's helpless sigh. They shared a piece of sweet-scented osmanthus cake in the ancient books section of the library, fought over a painting in front of the charity stall, and told their secrets to the evening breeze in the ginkgo-strewn playground.
That beam of light never belongs to just anyone - it is the rescue when forgetting words under the spotlight on the stage, the tension that cannot be hidden in the blood pressure meter reading, the overlapping arc of bamboo shadows and seedlings in the painting, and the warmth that "borrowed" in everyone's youth but remains forever in the memory.
Later I realized that the so-called same light was actually the beam of light that we had used to illuminate each other in each other's lives.
Intention: Leaving a mark of tenderness in life is the most touching meaning of youth.