I grew up in a dysfunctional family, surrounded by neighbors, no, strangers who looked at us with sneering eyes. My father, he was a hoodlum and my mother a lady of the evening or for better or worse, a harlot. I thought it was normal, that this life I lived was normal. After all, this was the only life I’ve ever known. Though most of the time, they hardly bothered over my well-being and dread going home, home to that deserted house. Gradually, I began to hate life… or so I thought ‘till a girl of my own age, yet older than me, appeared like a spring flower. Her name was Qing Qing and she was born in the middle of winter. I call her Big Sister Qing Qing. When she smiled, she had those two sweet dimples adorning her cheeks as her pair of beautiful long hair shone under the rays of the sun. Her pink pleated skirt was an elegant contrast to her white and fragrant figure. Looking at her… my heart thumped… I think she stole my heart without notice, without me knowing. And I fell hard.

You Xi is composed of fragmented “moments” or “events.” They may be easily overlooked or fleeting: a moment of reverie, a snowflake melting away, overlapping dreams, the alternating of night and day, or the waxing and waning of the moon. They may fill one’s heart with joy, or leave one feeling wistful: a book, clouds drifting freely, a room all to oneself, an ice cream encountered by chance on a rainy or snowy day, or an unexpected turn of events… The little white man and the man in the hat live in solitude and tranquility within their respective worlds, offering both subtle contrasts and romantic, magnificent echoes. (Source: Douban, machine translated)