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On the day of Han Jinglun's burial, Beijing, which had been rainy for half a month, suddenly cleared.

The blue sky seemed to have been washed by water, and the sun was blazing and cloudless.

The cemetery in the western suburbs is located halfway up the mountain.

The second-to-last bus stop is at the foot of the mountain.

There are very few people getting on and off at this stop.

On a sunny day in July, the temperature was in the thirties of the thirties.

Chen Qingtian wore a long black windbreaker and sat on a bench on the platform.

Her black sunglasses blocked out the dazzling light, and she sat quietly, her back straight, staring fixedly at the sparse traffic on the road.

At 9 o'clock in the morning, dozens of black business vehicles slowly approached from a distance, each decorated with white daisies.

On the front of one of the cars, white daisies are covered with a photograph.

The man in the photo has delicate facial features, gentle eyebrows and eyes, as if there are thousands of stars in his eyes, flashing with a little soft light, and a light smile on the corner of his lips.

The beautiful ones are like angels who have come down to earth.

She looked at the people in the photo from far and near, slowly coming.

For example, on the afternoon of the first encounter, the shallow sunlight sprinkled on his clear face, which amazed the time.

He was getting closer and closer to her.

Light and shadow intertwined gently with the speed of the car, and between him and her, a picture was outlined.

On the afternoon of the second day of meeting him, she bruised her arm, and he half-knelt in front of her, gently treating her wound.

On the 19th day of knowing him, it rained, and he personally sent her back to the dormitory with an umbrella.

On the 26th day of knowing him, he invited her out to dinner for the first time and gave her a few books.

On the 41st day of knowing him, he successfully experimented and hugged her when he was happy.

On the 55th day of his acquaintance, he drew a picture of her in colored pencils of her smiling and sunflowers blooming beside her.

……

On the 92nd day of knowing him, it snowed heavily that night, he put his coat over her, wore a thin shirt and carried her all the way back to the apartment, blew her hair, and took care of her all night when she had a fever.

On the 93rd day of knowing him, he kissed her for the first time and called her girlfriend.

On the 129th day of knowing him, Valentine's Day, he gave her a bouquet of green roses, wishing the sun and the moon to live up to the sunny days.

On the 130th day of knowing him, the New Year's bell rang, she pushed open the window, and he lit up the night sky for her with fireworks.

Through the scenes, her gaze and his's gaze reunited in the interlaced light and shadow.

Then slowly separate.

The traffic fades away, disappearing into the lush greenery of the winding road.

On the 253rd day of knowing him, she killed him.

…

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

The temperature was nearly forty degrees.

Chen Qingtian still had a straight back, sitting on the bench and not moving his position.

She took off her sunglasses, and the sun pierced her eyes.

Blinking her eyes that hadn't moved for too long, she tilted her head slightly, and asked the person sitting beside her in a shallow voice,

"Is it windy?"

Then he gathered the black trench coat on his body,

I'm a little cold.

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