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"I never felt that way again after my first love. The heartbeat at that time seemed to be the blooming of the first flower bud in spring, shy and passionate, and even the air was filled with sweet fragrance. Now, I stand in the afterglow of the sunset, the sunset dyes the horizon into a gentle golden orange, and the wind gently blows my cheek , It's like telling the past time. The throbbing of the past seems to be sealed in the amber of memory, crystal clear but can no longer be touched. Perhaps, the beauty of first love lies in its shortness and purity, like an unfinished poem, with a long aftertaste, but it always stops at the most touching line. A series of stories Yan Zheming experienced in his learning and growth career...