Don't Cry at Seventeen

“Laughing is easy. The hard part is being unable to cry.” This is their story, the story of seventeen-year-olds. In the long river of youth, who is waiting for whom? We do not ask the world to sympathize with us. We only want to taste a little happiness, nothing more. They say happiness is simple, but that is exactly why it is so hard to find. At seventeen, in the bloom of youth, she, Xia Yanyu, waits for those two words, “I do,” only to spend all her strength waiting and end up utterly defeated. She often hopes happiness will come a little closer, but its door remains forever just out of reach, appearing and disappearing before her eyes. “The more beautiful the dream, the crueler reality becomes.” Drawn into a family feud for no reason, she unwittingly stumbles into a deadly trap, then foolishly writes her own tale of love and hate. Do you understand, at seventeen? When you absentmindedly sketch out a blueprint for your dreams, unreasonable reality is just playing a cruel joke on you. You cannot imagine how foolish you are. Xia Zhirou, a sweet girl with her head in the clouds, can never hold her head high in front of her broken family or her sincere friends. Will reality defeat her dreams for the future at seventeen? “Love drifts like a feeling that might be true, or might be false.” Was it a mistake? Did the matchmaker tie the wrong threads, or is there something wrong with me? He only wants to watch over the girl in his heart, even if it takes his whole life. He has no regrets. But why is what he longs for always beyond his reach? At seventeen, Kang Junwei hides his strength behind a cheeky grin. His silent, endless love has built up like a long river. He only wants to stay by her side. He wants so little at seventeen, yet this drifting illusion conceals his wounds. What he wants keeps moving farther away, and in his pain, he has forgotten how to breathe. “You laugh at me for being foolish; I laugh at you for being wild.” You, too, have had an unusual seventeenth year. Some say it is like a flower, beautiful but fleeting. We once foolishly walked hand in hand through every street and alley, and crazily embraced in the rain just to fill the emptiness in our hearts. When you told me, “You still have me in your world,” she, he, and it, at seventeen, would laugh at you for being naive, because promises are only a salve for wounds. They can never last forever. That is what you were like at seventeen. We can fill the little space you have left with tears, or squeeze out a smile, but what fills you is the scant space you have remaining. If your seventeenth year was different, please support Luo Qing's Don't Cry at Seventeen. If you miss it, it will be your loss, because you only get one seventeenth year.