"You should take the No. 13 Bus back to your house. Don't run out again."
On a sultry rainy day, a little boy sat on a bench at the bus stop, his head hanging down and crying. The boy's arms had been hugged by a boy wearing a white T-shirt.
The boy's line of sight was blocked and he could only smell the faint fragrance of shower gel on the other person's body.
"Qiu Yusheng, I don't believe this is fake."
"Do you know how much I want to see you?"
…
"Qiu Yusheng is dead, Xu Qing, how long will you continue to be crazy?"
The bitter concoction cuts through the throat, and the bitter taste brings wakefulness but also pain.
Qiu Yusheng, I miss you.
Intention: Regret