Spring is getting stronger, cherry blossoms are snowing on Luojia Mountain, and the students who get up early are carrying books under the tree, either fluent and mellow English or elegant ancient prose. The sound of books echoes in their ears, bearing the youth like the sunrise.

Before the summer solstice, cicadas were heard on Luojia Mountain, and Parthenocissus tricuspidata was lush and close to the ancient teaching building. Through the old-fashioned rotating window, there are rows of bookshelves in the library, and the yellow paper on the bookshelves is gently brushed by a pair of immature hands, brushing away the dust of history.

Qiu Feng is like a fire, burning in one street after another. On the narrow road in front of the dormitory, the boy is holding his guitar and playing one song after another in the downstairs of his favorite girl. Slightly green voice gradually melted into the passion of fire, blushing for the fire cloud on the horizon at the end of the path.

Winter snow is crystal clear, falling slowly from the dark sky and dancing in the lonely light of street lamps. Ice crystals with beautiful patterns are condensed on the windows, but the dormitory is still filled with strong home enthusiasm. Brothers from all corners of the country lived together under the same roof for three years. Growing laughter and tears, joy and pain have penetrated into each other's lives and become an indispensable part of young campus memories.

Here, I will learn knowledge, temper my will and plump my wings.

Here, youth has no regrets.