The spring rain lasted for half a month, and I met Zhou Xubai while working in a second-hand bookstore.
When he casually bought the out-of-print poetry collection, the light reflected from his watch blinded me.
Later, he came often, always reading the same book by the window, and the sound of his fingertips across the pages was softer than falling rain.
Until that day when he closed the page and said, "Shen Yi, do you want to follow me?"
Intention: Zhou Xubai, how good you are