Sun Color Dipped in Tangxiang

Was this a wrong encounter? Or is it an encounter destined to be missed? Liang Yu's fingertips traced the pot of Begonia with freshly planted seeds on the window sill, and the moisture from the soil stuck to his fingertips. The four words "Four Seasons Begonia" are printed on the packaging bag, and next to it are the small characters he wrote in pencil: Wang Yao'ang. He traced the word "" over and over again, as if he was trying to carve the "" in the painting into the paper - the sun, hanging high in the sky, out of reach. He looked down at his hands, and the lines on his palms were still embedded with thin ash that could not be washed away - just like his face, which had a dull undertone from years of sun exposure, and always had a rough feeling that could not be shaken off. In the mirror, his eyelids were drooped and his nose was straight and flat. He stared at it for a while, and suddenly reached out and touched the round seed: It must sprout quickly, like his name, it carries the light of the sun. Be strong, he kept telling himself. Strong enough to protect the "him" in my heart - Wang Yao'ang, the cun head in the code, the straight shoulders in the imagination, and the "raise your head to see the sun" hidden in this name. He even thought about the scene: under the crabapple tree in Xifu, he leaned in Wang Yao'ang's arms and watched the pink and white petals fall on their shoulders. The warmth of the other person's palm would seep through his shirt, like sunshine. But when he looked down at himself, he felt funny: maybe no one needed his protection at all? Then guard this pot of four-season crabapple, guard this name with "" in it, knowing that it will always live in my heart, that's enough. I knew I was different from a young age. When other boys were chatting about sneakers, he would write in his diary, "Today I saw a senior in a white shirt bending down to pick up a pen." After the voice-changing period, his voice was still as soft as cotton soaked in water. When someone called him "sissy," he would only lock his diary tighter. Afraid of probing eyes, afraid of the empty bedside when I grow old, and even more afraid of... Not even being able to catch this "unreachable sun". Later, he was admitted to the private undergraduate school in City D. When he dragged his suitcase into the dormitory, he never expected to bump into Wang Yaoqiang. The boy was standing in front of the closet, squeaking the packing straps. The name on the badge was stained with sweat, and the word "" next to the word "" was clearly visible - not "", but "". He was not good-looking, but he had a real energy: his shoulders were strong from carrying luggage, not from hard training in the gym; his skin was darker than his, with a rough texture from the sun, his palms were covered with a thin layer of calluses, and his knuckles were as thick as rounded stones. When he is not smiling, he looks a bit fierce. When he smiles, there are fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and his eyes are blank, like unpolished stones. His mouth is stupid, his brain is slow, and he can't change his mind even if he decides on something. When Liang Yu heard this name for the first time, his heart skipped a beat. It's like looking up at the sun and being stung by a dazzling light - is it the sun itself or the light it sheds? He couldn't tell the difference and didn't dare to think about it. Was it fate that brought them together? Liang Yu squatted by the window sill, poking the soil in the crabapple pot with his fingertips, and said nothing. In his world, Wang Yaoqiang is probably that beam of "light" - coming from the sun, but falling into his window sill. He was still waiting for the Four Seasons Begonia to sprout, and for the imaginary Xifu Begonia to fall all over his shoulders. But occasionally, when Wang Yaoqiang handed over warm water, he would stare at the sun marks on the other person's wrist in a daze: This light seemed to be a little warmer than the sun in the sky. As for "light" and "sun", are they the same thing? Liang Yu raised his head and glanced out the window. Spring is coming soon, maybe when Begonia sprouts and he grows up a little, he will understand. Concept: The first layer: virtual addiction vs. Real temperature. The second layer: Is the essence of love projection or seeing? The third level: self-salvation of the humble