An eighteen-year-old boy was tasting the sorrow of life for the very first time. That Rolls-Royce felt like a towering mountain standing before him, a social class so high that no matter how hard he tried, he could never climb over it.
The way the two of them had spent Saturday afternoon was still vivid in his mind, beautiful like a fragile bubble that would burst and vanish at the slightest touch. His youthful, innocent feelings were green and raw, yet he could find no outlet to vent them, leaving him with an urgent desire to go outside and smoke a cigarette.
And so, during the long recess, He Yi did something incredibly foolish. He stood up to leave, and with a tone full of transferred anger, he snapped at the person beside him: "Move."
Chapter 167