Qingqiao Story

That year, Yang Fei and I climbed to the top of the mountain to fly a kite in the mining area. The weeds were up to our waists. The strong wind blew from the wasteland to the east, tearing everything apart wildly. Yang Fei gritted his teeth and dragged the kite string with all his strength. There were even deep blood marks on his palms. With a click, the string broke, and the wind The kite soared up into the blue sky. I stood there and watched blankly, but Yang Fei suddenly burst into laughter, threw the coil in his hand, and fell backwards while looking at the blue sky. Yang Qun and Ding Lin, who were still on the mountainside, were at a loss. Looking at the kite in the distance, should they continue climbing the mountain?