(I) Folded Spring
Spring in Guangzhou always gets moldy in subway stations. Aqiang remembered that day when it rained heavily. They had just finished singing "I Like You" on Tiyuxi Road when they were chased by security guards all over the street. A Ling's wheelchair got stuck in the mud pit of the construction site, and he carried her on his back and rushed into the fire escape of a nearby shopping mall. The neon lights shattered into thousands of stars on the glass, reflecting the blood oozing from the ends of her hair.
"Don't sing Cantonese songs anymore." She whispered on his back, with unprecedented fragility in her voice. "Brother, I'm afraid we will be swallowed up by this city." Aqiang buried his face in her bloody bangs and made an absurd promise: "When we save enough money, we will go to Hong Kong to watch the fireworks on Victoria Harbour."
(II) Midnight Butterflies
The leather factory in Houjie, Dongguan exudes a decadent sweet smell. They met Lao Wu under the overpass - a spray painter with a broken arm, who used his toes to hold a paintbrush to paint the night view of Victoria Harbour. Three broken souls exchanged stories at three in the morning: Old Wu talked about the red sailboat he saw in Tsim Sha Tsui, Aqiang hummed "Goodbye Ideal", and Aling dipped her toes in paint to draw her imaginary Hong Kong on cardboard.
On the day when Old Wu's painting was bought by a Hong Kong tourist, they held an impromptu concert under the bridge. The sound of Aqiang's guitar, Aling's rattle, and Old Wu's brush, mixed with the smell of the leather factory, raised strange fireworks in Dongguan at four in the morning. The tourist left three hundred Hong Kong dollars and half a bottle of Scotch whisky, as well as a postcard sent from Hong Kong: "If you can come to Victoria Harbour, remember to find me."
(III) Before the typhoon
On the eve of Typhoon Mangkhut's landing, they spread a blanket on a bench in Shenzhen Bay Park. Aqiang's guitar strings hummed in the strong wind, as if he had a premonition of something. Ah Ling suddenly said: "Brother, if we can really go to Hong Kong, what is the first thing you want to do?" He was stunned for a moment, grabbed her hand and put it on his violently beating artery: "Listen to the sea, listen to the sound of the waves in Victoria Harbour."
The next day, the news reported the losses caused by the typhoon, but they found a drifting bottle in the ruins. Inside was a crumpled note: "There are 100,000 kinds of homesickness in the sound of the waves in Victoria Harbour, welcome to listen to the 110,000th one." The signature was an unfamiliar Hong Kong address, and there was a butterfly with spread wings.
Spring in Guangzhou always gets moldy in subway stations. Aqiang remembered that day when it rained heavily. They had just finished singing "I Like You" on Tiyuxi Road when they were chased by security guards all over the street. A Ling's wheelchair got stuck in the mud pit of the construction site, and he carried her on his back and rushed into the fire escape of a nearby shopping mall. The neon lights shattered into thousands of stars on the glass, reflecting the blood oozing from the ends of her hair.
"Don't sing Cantonese songs anymore." She whispered on his back, with unprecedented fragility in her voice. "Brother, I'm afraid we will be swallowed up by this city." Aqiang buried his face in her bloody bangs and made an absurd promise: "When we save enough money, we will go to Hong Kong to watch the fireworks on Victoria Harbour."
(II) Midnight Butterflies
The leather factory in Houjie, Dongguan exudes a decadent sweet smell. They met Lao Wu under the overpass - a spray painter with a broken arm, who used his toes to hold a paintbrush to paint the night view of Victoria Harbour. Three broken souls exchanged stories at three in the morning: Old Wu talked about the red sailboat he saw in Tsim Sha Tsui, Aqiang hummed "Goodbye Ideal", and Aling dipped her toes in paint to draw her imaginary Hong Kong on cardboard.
On the day when Old Wu's painting was bought by a Hong Kong tourist, they held an impromptu concert under the bridge. The sound of Aqiang's guitar, Aling's rattle, and Old Wu's brush, mixed with the smell of the leather factory, raised strange fireworks in Dongguan at four in the morning. The tourist left three hundred Hong Kong dollars and half a bottle of Scotch whisky, as well as a postcard sent from Hong Kong: "If you can come to Victoria Harbour, remember to find me."
(III) Before the typhoon
On the eve of Typhoon Mangkhut's landing, they spread a blanket on a bench in Shenzhen Bay Park. Aqiang's guitar strings hummed in the strong wind, as if he had a premonition of something. Ah Ling suddenly said: "Brother, if we can really go to Hong Kong, what is the first thing you want to do?" He was stunned for a moment, grabbed her hand and put it on his violently beating artery: "Listen to the sea, listen to the sound of the waves in Victoria Harbour."
The next day, the news reported the losses caused by the typhoon, but they found a drifting bottle in the ruins. Inside was a crumpled note: "There are 100,000 kinds of homesickness in the sound of the waves in Victoria Harbour, welcome to listen to the 110,000th one." The signature was an unfamiliar Hong Kong address, and there was a butterfly with spread wings.
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