That Year the Wind Was Blowing, and the Young Man's Heart Was Moved

In the midsummer when I was seventeen years old, the cicadas were chirping noisily and my thoughts were running wild. The friendship between the scumbag and the top student at the same table quietly heated up as they borrowed paper, moved books and passed notes over and over again; the young man's startling glimpse of the class beauty became the lingering white moonlight in his heart. The three brothers made bold promises over beer and night talks, but their peace was broken. A conflict caused by preference unfolds the purity and struggle of youth, lies and redemption, passion and embarrassment. When the morning light pierced the blood, and when the young people faced the cracks in their growth, they finally understood that true strength is not about showing off, but about guarding a bright side side by side. The passing geese leave traces and the passing wind leaves a sound. This is theirs, the final chapter of youth with pain and heat.