After the typhoon, the commercial street faded away, and Aqiang's guitar played a new melody in the twilight. A Ling's bell tapped the wheelchair wheels, as if talking to the tide of the Pearl River. There was a cardboard covered with tickets in front of their stall: "From Baise to Victoria Harbour, the next stop is your story."
When the night completely swallowed the street, they would spread the coins they received that day on the blanket, like counting stars. Aqiang always said that the sound of the waves in Victoria Harbour contained Lao Wu's unfinished paintings, Beyond's unfinished songs, and their unreached spring. But A Ling only believes in one thing - as long as the guitar is still there, and they are still there, thorny roses will bloom in the cracks of the city.